Exiles (The Morganian Masters, book 2)
by Nancynhac
Summary: What does Horvath really want? What would happen if he got it? Sequel to "The Calling." WARNING: Contains some violence and disturbing imagery.
1. Double jeopardy

They were arguing again. Dave was grateful for the noise of running water as it filled the bathtub where he sat: it helped to drown out their words, if not the anger behind them. He would have let it continue, but a brief silence and then a sudden shout from the other side of the door commanded, "David! Turn off that water!"

Dave sighed. Mom yelled at him a lot lately. She suspected him of blabbing to Mrs. Shaw, his second-grade teacher, who called in CYS to cause his family trouble. He hadn't blabbed, though. It wasn't fair to blame him, he thought.

He reached forward and turned the handle until the flow stopped, then sat back and swished the warm water with arms and legs. The argument outside continued. He covered his ears, but it didn't help much.

A stroke of inspiration hit him. Scooting closer to the faucet, he lay on his back, holding his breath under water. Yes, that was better. He came up for air, then quickly went back under.

In this way, he would simply wait out the quarrel until they made him get out and go to bed.

He was submerged again when a strong hand grabbed his arm and yanked him upright. His father's face was flushed, his eyes slightly unfocused. He reeked of alcohol. He snarled at his son, "Your mother told you to get out of the tub. Now do it!" He shoved the small body in his grip.

Dave lost his footing. He fell with a loud splash, back into the lukewarm water, flailing. Looking up, he beheld the furious, drenched face of his father, and he cowered.

"You disobey me?" the man hissed. "I'll teach you to disobey me. I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget." He reached with both hands, reached and clasped his child's head in an unyielding vice. Downward they pulled, down beneath the water's surface, down and shaking him to keep the air from his lungs.

The boy struggled for his life. He twisted and kicked to no avail. Seven-year-old hands balled into fists and beat ineffectually against the strong arms that held him down. He felt his panic rise as the need for air became desperate. Dimly, he heard a roar, or maybe a scream, and he knew he was going to die.

Abruptly, the deadly hold was gone. Dave burst up, gasping. Mom was leaning against the sink, crying and holding one hand over the cheek where Father had hit her.

Mom's efforts hadn't been what stopped the attack, though. A bundle of growling, curly black fur had attached itself to Father's ankle. The man swore. He gave a vicious kick, and the animal flew into the far wall. She yelped in pain.

"Mitzi!" Dave's pet terrier was his best friend. She had come to his defense as best she could. Right now, though, he just wanted her to get away from here, away from his father's wrath.

Mitzi wasn't one to flee, however. Tenacious terrier that she was, she wasn't about to let her master go undefended. Baring her teeth, she growled at Mr. Stutler again.

She paid for her courage. The man used his heavy booted feet against the little dog. When her broken legs would no longer carry her, he grabbed one paw and swung, over and over, into the wall, heedless of her cries or the screams of his wife and son. He let the limp body fall at last.

Father walked out of the room, out of the house, and out of his family's life. Dave held Mitzi in his arms, his fear and his sobs mingling in a nightmare blur, while Mom gave what comfort she could.

* * *

><p>More than a hundred miles away, a woman walked alone down a little-used street in Greenwich Village. She was petite in her business attire, middle-aged with light brown hair turning gray, and appeared to be defenseless against the predators who haunted this section of town. She buttoned up her long coat to protect her from the chill on this October night.<p>

Chandra Kolinsky had just finished another lesson with her apprentice. Drake was promising, she thought, as far as students went, though he still needed to learn the value of teamwork. She would teach him that, in time. For now, it was enough that she had found him. She couldn't hope to challenge the Merlinian Blake on her own.

She'd been careful to keep clear of Blake these last six years, when she'd come to his home base of New York City. He mustn't know about her, or her apprentice, until she was ready. He rarely left his shop, the Arcana Cabana, for more than a few hours–as if he were afraid of missing an appointment with an unexpected visitor.

That would be the Prime Merlinian. Chandra shook her head and laughed to herself. The Prime Merlinian, indeed! Maxim Horvath had told his fellow Morganians about the quest when he had first joined them, before he himself had disappeared almost seventy years ago. Blake was a fool to keep hoping.

Fool or not, though, he was a formidable foe. She needed Drake's help if she wanted to get the Grimhold away from its guardian and release those it held inside. That was still years in the future. She sighed: patience was not one of her virtues.

Ahead, a streetlight flickered and went out. In the sudden darkness, Chandra thought she saw a disturbance, almost a ripple in the air. She stopped. It must be some of the local hoodlums, she decided, taking advantage of the outage to ambush a helpless woman. Well, they would have a nasty surprise if they tried it. She smiled in anticipation.

Her smile faded quickly, however. The disturbance grew, slowly becoming visible as a swirling maw of darkness and shooting points of light like distant stars. She felt its pull even from where she stood fifty feet away. She stepped back.

This was no creation of mere humans, hoodlums or otherwise. This was sorcery at work.

Blake! It had to be him. How had he found her? She turned to run, but the maw grew in an instant, grew a hundredfold in size and power. A white light, strong as the noonday sun, surrounded the darkness and blinded its only witness. It pulled her inside. She screamed, but there was no one to hear her, no one to see the swirling mass collapse in on itself, swallowing the light and its victim, vanishing as if it had never been.

The night air continued to ripple for a few seconds more. A ghostly image of the sorcerer woman lingered where she had stood, then faded into nothingness. The streetlight flickered on and off, on and off, sputtering, until at last it settled to a dim glow that remained steady. Ever after, no light would shine brighter in that haunted, lonely place.

* * *

><p>She picked herself up off the ground. A brief self-assessment assured her that she wasn't hurt, but her relief was short-lived. As she looked around, she found to her alarm that she had no memory of this place, or of how she had come to be here. I must have hit my head when I fell, she thought. I'm sure it will all come back to me soon. I hope.<p>

She stood in a dark alley with a wide yellow brick path running down the middle. Garbage bins sat near the back doors of the unlit buildings lining both sides of the alley, some with lids that couldn't close for the volume of refuse they covered. Boxes and old newspapers were piled in untidy heaps against many of the bins. Warm amber lights beckoned from both ends of the brick path, where the alley met the streets of this unknown city.

Where was her purse? She must have had one, she assumed, though she had no recollection of what it looked like. There was no sign of it anywhere. She came to the obvious conclusion: she'd been mugged, dragged into this alley by some despicable thugs who stole her purse and knocked her out so she couldn't call the police. Lucky for them that she didn't remember them, she fumed. Once she did, they would be going to jail for sure. She'd see to that.

She walked briskly to the nearer end of the alley, and the city opened up before her. The small hope she'd had of recognizing something familiar evaporated. Even in the relative peace of this hour, late at night or early morning, there were still businesses that were open. The cars were big and heavy, but there weren't that many of them. In the distance, she heard the sound of Big Band music from what must have been a nightclub. She wandered past rowhouses of red brick, closed shops selling books and records and art supplies, to a café with wrought-iron tables on its front patio. A newspaper had been left on one of the tables, partially scattered now by the wind still warm from the day.

It was the New York Sun, dated September 29. The year was 1946.

The woman sat at the café table and read that evening's paper by the yellow glow of a nearby streetlight. The news seemed distant somehow, as if she read history rather than the topics of the day. She left the paper where she had found it.

Her memory hadn't returned at all, and she was starting to worry that the mugging had been worse than she thought. Maybe if I talk to somebody, she considered, I'd start to remember things. Lost as she was, she headed for the nearest place that she knew was still open–the Big Band nightclub. There would be plenty of people there. She followed the music.

The nightclub had a doorman, she soon discovered.

"By yourself?" he inquired. She confirmed his impression, and he nodded. "Thirty cents cover charge." He ripped off the next ticket in the pad he held, then held out his other hand for the fee.

She searched the pockets of her long coat. One held a little book with an ornate cover but no title. From the other pocket, she pulled a simple change purse. These were her only possessions. She fished out a quarter and a nickel and handed them over.

The doorman was not amused. He studied the coins in his hands, frowning. "Is this a joke?" he asked. "I don't take play money." He handed them back to her. "Thirty cents, lady, in real American silver, or you're not getting in."

She studied the coins in dismay. What was wrong with them? Then she noticed the years they represented–1983 and 1997. She emptied the rest of the money from her change purse, looking for older specimens. There was nothing from before 1969. She looked up at the doorman. "I don't have anything," she told him. "Please, I'm lost. I don't know where else to go."

His expression softened. "There's a homeless shelter four blocks that way." He pointed. "They'll take you in there. Rough night for you, eh?"

"Yes. I don't remember anything that happened before." She walked away in the direction he'd shown her.

* * *

><p>Pete of Pete's Pawn Shop heard the bell jingle as the front door opened on this last day of September. He hurried out of the shop's back room to greet his customer.<p>

She stood before the central counter with a look of near desperation on her face. He'd seen that look often, and knew he had an easy mark. He smiled. "Can I help you, miss?"

"I need money," she replied.

"Okay, what've you got to show me?"

On the counter, she laid a change purse and a little book. He checked over them both. The coins were obviously nothing more than toys for children, but the book piqued his interest. It seemed to be a genuine antique, with tiny writing in many languages and gorgeous illustrations. It was nice, but he probably wouldn't be able to sell it.

"Three dollars," he offered. "Fifty cents for the fake money, two-fifty for the book. Take it or leave it."

"But I need more than that," she protested. "Surely they're worth at least ten."

Okay, so maybe she wasn't quite as ignorant as he'd thought. He considered. "Well, I'll tell you what. That's a nice ring you're wearing. It's probably worth more than these other things put together. You throw that in, and maybe I can see my way clear to...let's say, oh, fifteen? That sound good to you?"

She looked distinctly unhappy about his offer. At last, reluctantly, she pulled the ring from her finger and set it down beside the other items. "Fifteen," she said.

He swept them all behind the counter. Turning aside then to the cash register, he opened it and pulled out a few bills. He counted out fifteen and handed them over to the woman. "You've got forty-eight hours to buy back your things at the same price before I put them up for sale. That's store policy. I'll hold them for you until then. What's the name?"

She blinked. "I...I don't know. I don't remember." The desperation was increasing in her voice.

"Hmm. Well, I'll just write 'Jane Doe' on the tag, then, with a little description of you." He didn't expect to see her again in two days, anyway. "Good luck to you, miss."

"Thank you." She left the shop, and it seemed to Pete of Pete's Pawn Shop that she was more nearly hopeless than she'd been when she entered.

Strange bird, he thought. Woman her age carrying play money around as if it's worth something. At a guess, I'd say she just found out she lost her only son in the war. Drove her little choo-choo right around the bend. I hope she's all right. He yawned. It was nearly closing time and the end of his working day.


	2. Comeback

"I did it. Balthazar, I actually did it!" Dave had been quite sure at one point during his battle with Morgana that he wasn't going to survive it. The adrenaline was still running high when he turned and saw his fallen friend and master. Relief and triumph were swallowed up in grief such as he hadn't known in well over a decade. He used his newly discovered power in a last, desperate attempt to save this one who'd become so important in his life. Balthazar didn't respond. His apprentice hung his head, and his shoulders sagged, defeated.

* * *

><p>In New York's Garment District, in front of a closed outfitter's window display, the nearest streetlight flickered and went out. The air rippled in the sudden darkness. It solidified into a swirling maw of black and pinpoints of light. Before it formed a ghostly image of a woman; then, from the midst of the disturbance, a portal appeared, showing for an instant an older city bathed in sudden light on the other side. The woman herself blocked out the vista as she was dragged through the doorway, falling ungracefully onto the sidewalk of the present day. The ghost, drawn to its likeness, melted into the woman's body. The maw shuddered and disappeared, and the streetlight came back on.<p>

Chandra Kolinsky picked herself up. Gone was the business attire she'd previously worn. Now she was clad in a bright flower-patterned dress with matching pointed shoes, a pearl necklace, and a tweed chemise over all. Her hat and purse lay a few feet away.

She remembered everything. "When am I now?" she wondered aloud. Most of the stores she recognized from before, but there had been some obvious updates. She'd been gone for over twelve years, she knew. What else had changed?

She glanced down at the hand that had once borne her sorcerer ring. That was gone now, along with her Encantus...and probably her apprentice, too. Where was Drake? Even if he'd given up on her and his training, he was still a sorcerer, and she needed another sorcerer to craft a new ring for herself. She set out to find him.

It wasn't difficult, all things considered. The all-but-abandoned apartment building where he'd lived as a runaway teenager had been torn down and replaced by a chic new condominium. Not too far away was an all-night coffeehouse and internet café. There she found students from the university, with their computers open before them. She cajoled one into finding the information she sought, while she bought him and herself something to drink at the counter.

Drake Stone's telephone number was unlisted. He had no personal e-mail account, as far as they could tell, so she had the student send a specially worded message to his public one. Building security made sure that no unauthorized visitors could reach their star tenant, and without her ring, Chandra had no way to get past them. She would have to wait until the following day if she hoped to contact him.

* * *

><p>Noon, the time she'd requested for a meeting in the coffeehouse, came and went. Chandra stayed for another half-hour, just in case, but her former apprentice never showed. Frowning, she made her way to the high-rise listed as his current residence.<p>

Police cars and a pair of ambulances were parked outside the entrance. A line of yellow tape kept the onlookers at bay, while police officers did their business.

"What's going on?" asked the latest arrival to the scene.

A young woman nearby took it upon herself to answer the question. She'd been crying recently, as evidenced by her smeared mascara and the crumpled tissue in her hand that she used now and again to dab at her reddened nose. "It's Drake Stone," she whimpered. "Somebody attacked him. They broke in last night. That's all we know." Her lower lip quivered. "Oh, poor Drake." Then she began to cry again.

Chandra sorely missed her ring. She needed more information, but the ones who could give it weren't about to share it with a stranger. She waited with everyone else, until at last the EMTs carried out from the building not one, but two still bodies on stretchers. She noted with relief that the covers left the patients' faces exposed. They weren't dead, then. Even with the bizarre hair that the man sported, she recognized him as Drake. Who was the woman, though? Had he married while his master was gone? More likely a groupie, Chandra thought wryly. Drake had always been too self-centered to care about anyone else.

She watched as the two ambulances pulled away, and the crowd began to disperse. Who could have done this? she wondered. Surely, no human would be able to overpower a sorcerer. Blake, maybe? It was possible, but not likely. From what she'd heard, this just wasn't his style. There must be another sorcerer in town, she concluded. Candelario would know.

* * *

><p>"Chandra Kolinsky!" the old cook exclaimed. "Where've you been? We missed you around here."<p>

"Away," she said tersely. "I need to know: has someone else come to town since I left?"

He shook his head. "You sorcerers sure don't like to tell me anything. It's a good thing you're paying me plenty, or I just might feel left out." She glared. "Oh, all right," he continued. "Big news. It's Maxim Horvath. He's come back. He asked me for soldiers, and I pointed him to your old apprentice Drake." He beamed, obviously quite pleased with himself.

"Maxim Horvath..." she repeated in raw wonder. The man was practically a legend in Morganian circles. "So he's still alive."

Candelario nodded. "Yep, still alive, and still active." From a floor freezer opposite the cooktop, he pulled a stack of burgers wrapped in plastic. He showed her the top one. In it had been seared the shape of a pentagram, black against the surrounding brownish-red ground beef. "He did this," the man explained.

"I see." So it had been Horvath who attacked her student, she had no doubt. She was a little irked, but... Horvath! He had to have had a good reason. Besides that, he was a far better choice to help her craft a new ring. "I need to talk to him, Candelario," she declared. "Set up a meeting for us, would you?"

He shrugged. "Sure. I don't know when I'll see him again, though. Could be a while."

"I understand. I'll be frequenting the Esperanto Cafe for a while, but I'm going to need money until I get my power back."

"You asking for a loan?"

"You'll get it back with generous interest. That's a promise."

* * *

><p>She didn't have to wait as long as she'd feared. For the last two days, in and around the coffeehouse that had practically become her home, she'd been doing her best to catch up on the years she'd missed, both generally and in regard to her apprentice. Apparently, Drake was now in a coma at New York Presbyterian Hospital. Nobody knew who the young woman was, strangely dressed as she was in a colonial-era costume, or what, precisely, was wrong with the pair. They simply refused to wake. As to the details of the break-in, police had no more information now than they had that first day. Chandra knew they wouldn't find any.<p>

She looked up from the Sunday paper, open on the table before her beside her mocha latte. A dark but dapper gentlemen stood just inside the entrance. He looked somewhat out of place here, amid the crowd of tourists and college students, and his gaze darted to and fro as if searching for someone in particular. He spotted her.

Chandra noted the short, jewel-encrusted cane the man carried. This had to be Maxim Horvath. She stood, keeping her eyes locked on his.

Horvath joined her at her table. "You don't have a ring," was his opening comment.

"Long story," she replied in the same manner. "I need to make a new one."

He nodded, knowing what she was asking. "All right. Just try not to lose this one."

She grimaced. Powerful he might be, but the man wasn't exactly Prince Charming. "We need to talk, compare notes...in private." The Morganians had spies, so it was reasonable to assume that the Merlinians did, too.

"I have a room at the Waldorf Towers."

They left the coffeehouse together.

* * *

><p>"Why don't you just give me one of yours?" she asked. "You have three extras, after all."<p>

Horvath rolled his eyes. "Surely you can't be serious?" He peered at her like a teacher putting his student to the test. She was indeed serious. He gave her a longsuffering sigh and explained. "Well, first of all," he began, pointing to a ring that was shaped like a miniature dragon, "this one belonged to my one-time master, Merlin. It took me literally centuries to get hold of it, partly because I had to wait until the Prime Merlinian transformed it back into a ring. While Blake had it, it was nothing more than a useless figurine. Honestly, I never expected it to be anything else, once Merlin died."

"But you were wrong."

He glared at her. "Obviously."

"All right, then, I can understand why you don't want to part with that one. What about the other two that you're not wearing? One looks like Drake's old ring."

"It _is_ Drake's old ring."

"Maybe you'd better explain what's going on, Mr. Horvath."

"Yes, you missed a lot." He turned aside to the hotel end table beside his chair. On it was a bottle of dark red liquid and a pair of goblets. "Care for some Cabernet?"

The bottle was nearly empty by the time the two sorcerers finished briefing one another. Chandra sat for a minute in stunned silence, staring at the glass in her hand. "So," she finally ventured, "Morgana is gone. Blake and his woman..."

Horvath coughed pointedly.

"...er, your woman," she corrected herself, "and this Dave person are all still here in New York."

"Right. They've moved from their previous location, but they're still here in the city." He waved his hand, and the drapes covering the large window parted. Outside, the Chrysler Building loomed large in the center of the cityscape. "Blake was there last night," the sorcerer explained. "I happened to be looking out the window just then, or I wouldn't have known. He took one of the eagle gargoyles, and didn't get back until the wee hours of the morning. I don't know where he went, but it looked like he was searching for something, or someone."

"For you?" guessed his visitor.

Horvath shook his head. "I don't think so. He knows he won't find me that way unless I want to be found. I don't want to be found just yet." He shrugged. "At any rate, it would probably be best to attack before he finds whoever he's looking for. I can't do it alone, though. I'll need help to fight them. Otherwise, I wouldn't have bothered to meet with you today."

She debated with herself whether to take offense at that, but decided it would be pointless. Instead, she posed what she thought was a quite logical question: "May I ask why you feel the need to fight them at all? With Morgana gone, is there really any hope for the rest of us to accomplish her dream? Why not just leave New York to the Merlinians, and set up headquarters somewhere else, somewhere far enough away that each side can have its own domain? We don't bother them, and they don't bother us. Doesn't that make more sense?"

She could see that her host didn't appreciate the suggestion. He glowered at her. Through clenched teeth, he growled his reply. "He took what was rightfully mine. I'm going to get her back."

Ah, so this was personal. Now Chandra understood. "Well," she pondered aloud, "I'm not so sure I want to get involved in your vendetta. Every one of our enemies is more powerful than I ever was. I'd rather not get myself killed, thank you." She rose, preparing to leave. "I think I'll just keep searching for another ally to help me craft a new ring. Thank you for your hospitality."

Horvath leaned back with an unpleasant smile. "You're not going anywhere," he informed her. "I need your help. You're going to give it." The unspoken threat was as obvious as her own helplessness to defy him.

"Why don't you just revive my apprentice and the witch girl?" she offered. Give them back their rings, and you'd have two helpers right there."

"Because," he replied with forced patience, "I can't trust them now, if I ever could. They're as likely to stab me in the back as defend it. We Morganians never forget an injury. Besides, I've grown used to the extra power of their rings. I have no desire to give that up."

Chandra considered. Then she pointed out, "Maxim Horvath is practically a legend. Now that you have enhanced power, you can reinforce that image even more. Wake the pair, get new rings for them, and I'll make sure they know you're not one to be trifled with, if they didn't know that already." After he accomplished his objective, she figured, she and the younger sorcerers would be free to leave.

"You're right; I'm not one to be trifled with," he agreed, or maybe warned.

"So, do you like my idea?"

"What, craft three new rings instead of just one for you?"

"Yes."

"I could do that. You–all of you–would follow my orders without question. If anyone gets any clever ideas otherwise, ..." He raised his cane toward the window, and the blue jewels glowed.

A clap of thunder boomed with enough force to rattle the windowpane. The muffled sound of screams came through. Chandra spun to gaze outside, dreading what she expected to see.

A huge, gaping hole faced her from the UBS building directly across the street. Smoke and debris were still billowing out and down onto the sidewalk below. There were also casualties.

The woman stepped back, her face pale. She pulled the drapes closed as the sound of sirens began to fill the streets. Turning, her eyes met those of the higher master. "I understand."

* * *

><p>To the south, in a meadow surrounded by hills, a ragged man with shaggy black hair approached a wooden rail fence, beyond which grazed half a dozen horses still shaggy with their own winter coats. Grass was scarce here, withered and patchy where it could be found under the melting snow. The man looked over every animal with a practiced eye, then decided on one in particular. He headed toward the nearby stable.<p>

He had his arms full of tack and was walking back to the paddock when a yell came from behind.

"Hey! Mister! What do you think you're doing?"

The man stopped and pivoted to face his questioner. He raised one eyebrow. "It's 'master,' human, not 'mister,'" he replied. "Are you the owner of these beasts?"

The questioner frowned. He was a stout man dressed in plaid, with a hunter's cap to cover his balding pate. "Nah, I ain't the owner. I'm just the guy she hired to take care of 'em. What are you doing here? We ain't open for business yet. Not 'til Summer."

"I need a mount, now. I can't wait until Summer."

"Sorry, bud, no can do. It ain't my call. Put the gear back where you got it."

"I'll pay you well for it." He laid his burden on the floor and reached under the tattered blanket he wore like a cloak. When he brought his hand forth again, it bore a mound of coins–Byzantine solidi, all in mint condition.

The caretaker gasped. Hesitantly, he stretched out a hand to touch the treasure upon the stranger's open palm. "Is that...real?"

"Of course. I have more if that isn't enough."

"Oh wow." He stared at the gold, transfixed, but finally shook his head. "No," he stated. "I told you, those horses ain't mine to sell. You just...just take your gold and leave. I don't know where you got it, and I don't wanna know, but I know I don't want any part of it. Go on now, get out of here."

With a sigh, the ragged man put his gold away. "I was afraid you were going to resist. Well, I tried to do this the Merlinian way. It didn't work."

"Huh?" The caretaker was utterly confused. He saw the stranger holding up one hand, on which was an ornate red-stoned ring. The stone began to glow.

He blinked. The stranger had vanished, along with the tack he'd been carrying. On the floor in its place was a pile of gold twice as big as that which he'd seen earlier. He ran outside. It was early evening now, and one of the horses was missing. He cursed. What was he going to tell the boss? Well, at least he had a pile of treasure to show for it. Maybe she'd even let him keep some of it. One could only hope.


	3. The right moves

"Hey, Balthazar, check this out!" Dave bounded down the steep steps of his laboratory, brandishing a newspaper in his hand.

His master lifted his weary head from the arms folded on the table where he sat. He'd slept little in the days since their battle that fateful night at Bowling Green, and it showed. Between introducing Veronica to life in modern America, teaching his apprentice the secrets of sorcery, dealing with the practicalities of the necessary changes in all their lives, and his mysterious excursions at night, Balthazar was running on not much more than caffeine and sheer willpower. "Check what out?" he asked.

Dave stopped short. "Man, you look awful," he noted. "You need a vacation."

"Thanks for the advice. I'll take it under consideration."

"Hey, it's not my fault you can't sleep." He paused, suddenly concerned. "Uh, is it?" It wouldn't be the first time that Balthazar withheld information in an attempt to spare his student from distress.

Balthazar shook his head. "No, it's not your fault." He reached for the paper in the younger man's hand. "What did you want to show me?"

Dave handed it over, but now he was more interested in his friend than in the relevant article. He'd been somewhat preoccupied until now, mostly due to some of those necessary changes...and Becky.

Their first real date had also been their last. Upon the eagle's return on the night following the battle, Dave had walked his new girlfriend home, then returned to his own apartment, only to find it bare and empty. Well, not quite empty. His old couch was still there, and on it had been dozing the sorcerer couple Balthazar and Veronica. They'd awoken at the owner's arrival.

"What are you doing here?" Dave demanded of them. "Where's my stuff? Where's Bennett? And Tank? What's going on?" The euphoria of his recent date evaporated.

Balthazar was apologetic but determined. "We had to move them. Horvath knows this is your place. He's already used Becky against you. It's safer for everyone to get your roommate out of his reach. Bennett agreed to look after Tank for you, too. As for your 'stuff', it's at the lab."

"But...but I was fine here before. There was just the wolf thing, and then Horvath didn't come back. What's changed?"

"He still has your ring, remember?"

Dave remembered. He no longer needed Merlin's dragon ring to cast spells, but it made him uneasy to think that an enemy had it instead. How would he fare if it came to a fight, since both combatants now had Merlin's power? He wouldn't always have his Tesla coils, or the element of surprise, to disarm the Morganian. His greatest reassurance was that Horvath was alone, and he wasn't. He had Balthazar, and now Veronica too.

Something else occurred to him. "Becky...do you think he'll come after her again?"

"Most likely, yes." Balthazar smiled without humor, waiting for his apprentice to draw the appropriate conclusions.

It didn't take long. "So, um, what should I tell her? She's not going to quit her radio job or anything, and I can't be there to guard her all the time, even if she'd let me."

"Tell her the truth. She won't be safe until Horvath is gone. None of us will be."

This was too much. "I need to sit down," said Dave faintly.

The couple stood together, and Dave plopped down in the middle of the couch. He took a few moments to settle his thoughts, then looked up again at his master, who'd wandered over to the sink while he waited. Veronica, meanwhile, had settled herself on one of the couch arms.

"I don't get it," admitted the youngest of the trio. "Why are my friends in more danger now than they were before? What does Horvath have to gain by hurting them? He already has my ring. What more does he want from me?"

Veronica spoke for the first time since Dave's return. "He wants your cooperation," she replied. "Balthazar told me what happened, about Horvath betraying us to Morgana. I knew that Horvath was unhappy with my choice, but I never expected it to go this far. I thought Morgana had forced him to help her with The Rising. I didn't know." She sounded terribly sad.

"So...what? He thinks I'm going to help him take over the world? With Morgana out of the picture, he's the most powerful evil sorcerer around. Are you saying he wants to be the new ruler? And I'll just go along with that to save Becky or anyone else?"

"Would you?"

Dave had to think about that. In the end, he had to confess, "I don't know. Maybe, for a while, until I figured out a way to stop him." He thought some more. "I'd have to fight you, both of you, if that happened. It's a hard choice, you or Becky. I don't think I could live with myself if I had to make that choice, no matter which way it went."

Balthazar had wandered back to the other side of the couch while Dave had been thinking. He laid a reassuring hand on his young friend's shoulder. "Lord willing, you won't have to," he said gently. "Come on, let's get to your lab so you can sleep in your own bed again. You must be tired from all that traveling you just finished."

A huge yawn confirmed his suspicion. "Yeah," said Dave when he could talk again. "I'm tired enough to crash right here on the couch."

"That's fine, but what about us? We don't even have a blanket to share here. I can get by without one, but I'm not going to treat my lady that way."

"Oh, you can go ahead to the lab without me. I'll meet you there in the morning, or whenever I wake up." He bent down to take off his shoes.

The hand on his shoulder tightened and pulled him back. Balthazar didn't let go. "We're all going together, right now," he ordered. "None of us can afford to stay alone until we figure out what Horvath is up to next."

There was no arguing with the master. Dave sighed. "And here I thought life was going to get easier once Morgana was gone."

* * *

><p>Veronica was the first to enter the remodeled subway turnaround. Over the protests of the two gentlemen who escorted her, she insisted, "If Horvath is inside waiting for us, it's best for me to lead the way. He won't attack me." She smiled. "If there's nobody there, then it won't make any difference who goes first. You don't need to protect me."<p>

The lab had no other occupants, fortunately, but only added furnishings. It was just a little more cluttered than it had been the night before. Dave's belongings weren't many, but they took up the entire alcove created by the walled-off tunnel built for one of the old subway lines. His cot, which he'd allowed Balthazar to use since they'd begun their training sessions, was tucked into another alcove in front of the assorted items cleared out from Dave's impromptu bedroom. A few steps above the main floor, near the sinks and the fenced-in cleaning supplies, sat the kitchen table and chairs that Dave's mom had donated. Beyond them was an apartment-sized refrigerator with a microwave perched atop it.

"Almost like home," Dave commented drily.

"Only a lot bigger," answered his teacher.

Dave headed directly for his bedroom alcove. He had his pajamas out of the dresser and his shirt pulled off before he realized something he thought was important. He turned around. "Hey, this room is open, and so is yours. How about a little privacy?" He wouldn't have minded so much if Veronica weren't staying with them, but the presence of a woman demanded some propriety.

That woman was even now spreading out the bedding from the cot, not on the cot itself, but on the floor beside it. Balthazar had doffed his long leather coat and tossed it onto the bare mattress. He glanced back at his apprentice. Casually, he waved a hand, and a blanket from Dave's bed sprang to the middle of the alcove opening, stiff and stretched upright like a canvas in an invisible frame. "Better?" asked the older man.

Dave grumbled to himself as he finished changing. "I could have done that much myself." When he was ready, he grabbed the blanket and released it from its shield duty. Across the way, he spied the couple lying together on the floor, the leather coat serving as an additional cover. He felt a twinge of guilt for being able to sleep in a real bed. "Hey, guys," he offered. "Why don't you take my bed tonight, and I can use the cot?"

"No thanks, Dave, we're fine." Balthazar sounded as sleepy as Dave felt. "We'll be doing some house-hunting tomorrow, and buying some nice furniture."

"Oh. Well, if you're sure..."

"Good night, Dave."

"Good night."

* * *

><p>The alarm buzzed beside his head. Dave moaned. By force of habit, he slapped a hand down on the snooze bar without even opening his eyes, then turned over, away from the offending noise.<p>

Abruptly, he felt his pillow jerk away from under his head. "Wha...?" He looked up and panicked. A white mass was falling straight down onto his face. He raised his hands instinctively, sending the mass flying upward. His pillow hit the ceiling and stuck there.

"Good morning, sunshine." Balthazar was grinning hugely at him from beside the bed.

"Go away. I don't have class until this afternoon."

"My, my, aren't we grumpy today?"

"You'd be grumpy too if someone tried to smother you with your own pillow."

"For the record, I was not trying to smother you. Also for the record, you reacted very well."

"Gee, thanks. Can I go back to sleep now?" He raised one hand again, and the pillow dropped into his grasp.

"If you don't care what happens to your girlfriend, sure." Balthazar's tone was still light, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of his words.

Now Dave was wide awake. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you'd better tell her what's going on. She's vulnerable. As long as Horvath is around, she's going to be in danger, especially if you're not there to protect her. She needs to know that."

Fear for Becky, and guilt for bringing her into the sorcerer war, made him even grumpier. "Boy, you sure know how to start my day off right," he complained. He got out of bed at last.

"All part of the job," Balthazar replied. "Take the Phantom. Veronica and I are going to be doing a lot of shopping today. We'll need some cargo space." He reached into a pocket and brought out an ancient-looking amulet on a cord. "Wear this when we're separated," he instructed. "It lets me know where you are."

"Wouldn't a cell phone be easier?"

"I'm old-fashioned. Humor me."

* * *

><p>It was a productive, if not altogether satisfactory, day. Becky was not happy to hear about the risk she'd assumed when she made her decision to be with Dave. "I thought that was over," she told him as he drove her to her first class of the day. "You said Horvath ran away."<p>

"He did. We think he's still here, though, in New York."

"Okay, but even if he is, you beat him before. Won't he stay away from us now?"

Dave wished he could be more optimistic, but experience warned him against that path. "Maybe," he said, not convincing even himself. "We haven't seen him since the battle. Maybe we're wrong, and he's halfway to China by now." Or maybe he's plotting his next move right now, watching us from the shadows, just waiting for me to let my guard down. "Until we know for sure," he continued, "it would be best if you stayed with at least one of us as much as possible."

She gaped at him. "Excuse me? Dave, I do have a life."

"I know." And I _don't_ have a life. Being a sorcerer isn't going to change that.

They arrived at their destination. Becky gave him a quick kiss, then opened her car door to get out. "We'll talk about this later, okay?"

He nodded. "I'll pick you up right here to take you to work after your classes."

Dave drove back to the lab. His roommates had gone out for the day, so he busied himself with schoolwork, keeping alert for the slightest sound of their return. Since his life had been irreversibly altered in the few hectic days since his twentieth birthday, he found himself craving company, somebody who understood the changes and challenges he'd been facing.

Balthazar understood. Maddening as the master sorcerer could be, he knew Dave almost better than Dave knew himself. He knew Dave, and he believed in him, and he accepted nothing less from his apprentice than the best he could give. I wish my dad had been like that, Dave thought, much to his own surprise. He hadn't thought about his father in years–had deliberately avoided thinking about him, in fact. Balthazar was nothing like Mr. Stutler. He would make a good father someday. Dave smiled at the mental image evoked by his musings. If he's going to be _Uncle_ Balthazar to me, then I can be _Uncle_ Dave to his kids. Ha, serves him right.

He left for his own class after a lonely lunch of canned soup and crackers. Once there, his mood improved a little: he felt almost normal again. Unfortunately, he had to leave early to pick up Becky, since her last class ended half an hour before his.

She still wasn't thrilled with her new boyfriend. "I think you're being paranoid," she said. "You're like an overprotective parent who won't let his daughter go anywhere without a chaperone. I'm not a little girl, you know."

Okay, maybe he was overdoing it a little, Dave conceded to himself. Aloud, he answered her charge. "All right, Becky. Maybe you're right. I just don't want anything to happen to you, that's all. I care about you too much to even think of Horvath attacking you again."

Her tone softened. "That's very sweet of you, Dave. Would it make you feel better if I came over to the lab after work tonight? I can call you first to let you know I'm on my way."

He wanted to say no, he'd rather pick her up himself, but he knew that would only make her angry. Reluctantly, he agreed to her suggestion. "Could you do me a favor, though?" he requested. "Wear this." He pulled off his amulet necklace and handed it to his passenger.

She took it gingerly. "Is this like a class ring or something? It's a little early for that stage, don't you think?"

He grinned. "Actually, it's been about ten years in coming."

* * *

><p>Dave was listening to the radio, to Becky, inside his control center on one of the upper walkways when the elder couple returned to the lab. They looked tired but wary. "So what did you buy today?" he asked them.<p>

"Come and see," his master invited. "By the way, what did I do when you first put on your ring back at your apartment?"

This was a test, Dave knew. Horvath or any other imposter couldn't possibly know the answer. "Well, first of all, it wasn't at my apartment. It was in your car. You told me nothing was going to happen, but then you swerved like you'd just lost control of the wheel. Scared me half to death."

Balthazar chuckled. "Just kidding, remember?" Then he grew serious. "Your amulet says you should be at the NYU communications building right now. I had to make sure it was really you, Dave. Let me guess: you gave the necklace to Becky, right?"

"Yeah, well, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"Lucky for you I've got another one. Here." He tossed a second amulet to his apprentice. "Keep this one, all right?"

Outside, directly in front of the 1935 Rolls-Royce Phantom, was parked a brand-new shiny black monster. "BMW X5," Balthazar announced proudly. "It's big enough to hold all of us, plus there's plenty of room for cargo." He rattled off specs that meant little to Dave and even less to Veronica, judging by her bored but tolerant expression.

"Okay, but why didn't you just change the Rolls into a sedan or something?" asked Dave.

Balthazar looked offended. "That's cruel, Dave. She deserves her dignity, after all. She's seen enough abuse already, what with you turning her into that awful beater, and then getting crushed by a garbage truck." He ran one hand lovingly along the Phantom's hood. "No, she stays her beautiful, sexy self. I love her just the way she is."

"So what are you going to do with it?" Dave inquired. "If we're not going to use it, shouldn't you put it in storage or something?"

"I didn't say we weren't going to use her. It's just easier to have two vehicles available, that's all." He smiled. "The new one is under Horvath's radar so far. He won't be looking for us to be leaving here in an SUV."

"Leaving here...?"

"We're moving again. I don't want the enemy to know where we are."

Dave's cell phone rang before he could question the others further. "That would be Becky," he told them. "She said she'd call before she came over to the lab."

"Tell her we'll pick her up there. Then we can all go out for dinner, and I can show you our new place. You'll love it."

* * *

><p>"Sweet."<p>

The penthouse condominium was already furnished, austere and uncluttered as Balthazar's old residence at the Arcana Cabana had not been. Dave nodded approvingly.

The new owner gave the younger couple a brief tour. The living room was sunken, surrounded by two bedrooms with attached baths, a dining area between a water closet and a modern kitchen, and an open space in front of the sliding glass doors that opened onto a wide balcony far above the streets of the city.

"This is your room," Balthazar informed his apprentice when they came to the second bedroom. "We already moved your clothes in."

Dave checked; and sure enough, the dresser and closet were stuffed full. In the bathroom, he found his toiletries waiting on the sink. "Okay, um, thanks," he managed.

"Is there a problem? Did we forget something?"

"No, it's just...well, when you said 'we' were moving, I thought you meant just you and Veronica. I didn't know you meant me, too."

"What did you think, that we were just going to let you stay by yourself at the lab? I told you, none of us can afford to stay alone until Horvath is neutralized."

"I don't know what I thought. I guess I wasn't actually thinking at all." He pondered his own impressions, trying to find the right words to express the reason for his reticence. He settled for words that were at least adequate, he hoped. "It feels like I'm a kid who's just moved back in with his parents. It's not exactly good for my image." He glanced aside at Becky, who avoided his gaze. "You know?" He'd had a hard enough time building up his self-image enough to win her respect. This move threatened his newfound status in her eyes. It had to. Women just didn't respect a guy who still lived with his parents.

Balthazar looked first at him, then at the blonde beside him. Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Ooooh," he responded at last. "I see."

There was an awkward silence, until Veronica quietly ventured, "If it helps, we know you're not our child. You are still an apprentice, though. In our day, apprentices always lived with their masters. There's no shame in that. And it is only temporary."

"Right," Balthazar added. "Besides, you're the strongest sorcerer here. Think of it this way: we need you to protect us from Horvath and his ill-gotten power. The least I can do is to make sure you have a nice place to stay while you're guarding us."

Dave shook his head. "Nice try, buddy, but it's not gonna work."

To his surprise, Becky decided the issue. She took his arm. "Dave, they're right," she said. "You said you were afraid for me because you cared that much. Well, I can see that you care for each other, too. And you _are_ a powerful sorcerer. You defeated Morgana." She smiled; and for that moment, Dave felt as if he could take on Morgana all over again, and Horvath, and every other evil in the world. "Stay with your friends," she continued. "For me."

Dave tore his eyes away from the face he adored. He turned to his waiting master. "It looks like I'm outvoted."


	4. Duty and doubt

The Prime Merlinian took his time driving Becky home. He was still getting used to the big SUV, and he figured he might as well enjoy it. Back at the leased parking space assigned to his new address, he sat in the vehicle and called his former roommate Bennett. They spent a while catching up on everything that had happened, until Dave's phone battery began to run low. Finally, he got out and rode the elevator up to the top floor of the building. It was late, and he was ready to get some shut-eye.

He entered quietly so as not to disturb the older couple. He needn't have bothered.

"About time you got back," said a familiar voice from the darkness of the living room ahead.

"Balthazar! How come you're still up? I thought you and Veronica would welcome the chance to be alone tonight, in a real bed even."

His master's response sounded tired, but there was an air of resignation about it, as well. "We've discussed it."

Uh-oh. This sounded way too personal for Dave's comfort. He offered what he could anyway. "Want to talk about it? I don't mind staying up to listen. Oh, and thank you."

"For what?"

"For making me look good in front of Becky. You know, the whole 'we need you to protect us' thing. I'm surprised she actually fell for that. Thanks, dude."

There was a moment of silence, then a quiet "Sure, no problem."

"So, um, did you want to talk about...?" He let the question trail off. Balthazar would know what he meant.

"No thanks. I'm going out. I was just waiting for you to get your butt up here so Veronica wouldn't be alone." Balthazar rose from the couch where he'd been sitting.

"You're going out _now? _Why?"

The other made to walk past him to the exit, but Dave planted himself firmly in front of the door. "Answer me, Balthazar." They locked stares. Dave felt the tension rising. It was he who made the first move to dispel it. "Come on, buddy, give. I want to help."

Balthazar shook his head. "You can't help, Dave, not with this." He looked back at the closed door of the room he shared with his lady. "I can't stay there, in the same room with her, and not touch her. We were too busy, too tired, these last couple of nights, but now things are starting to settle down. I've been waiting for her so long..."

Dave blinked, confused. "Wait a minute. That doesn't make sense. I saw the ring on her finger, and I thought..."

"Thought what?"

"Well, that you two were already hitched, or at least engaged."

"We are engaged, Dave, but that's not an engagement ring. People didn't wear those in Merlin's day."

"So she was married before?"

"No." Balthazar was growing impatient. "It's a family heirloom. Her mother gave it to her before she died. It's a reminder of Veronica's top priority, even more than magic. It will change into her wedding ring when the time comes."

"When is that going to be?"

"We've set the date for March 3rd next year, one year from the battle, when we were both set free." He flashed a half-smile. "Thanks to you, Dave. Until then, we stay chaste." He seemed distinctly unhappy about that last.

Dave grimaced in sympathy. They had almost a full year to go, then. "So what are you going to do meanwhile? Did you want the other bedroom?"

"No, that's yours. We'll work it out." He took a deep breath and let it out again. "Tonight, though, I'm going out. I made a promise to a friend, and I intend to keep it."

No amount of coaxing could bring any more information from the master. Dave was forced to let him go with his secret intact. Feeling frustrated and utterly useless, he lay awake in bed for many hours, staring at the nothingness above. It was a long night.

* * *

><p>The next day, Saturday, consisted of another full schedule for the sorcerers. Dave spent the morning studying with Becky, and Balthazar did some more shopping with Veronica, this time concentrating on things that weren't essential–they'd already bought those yesterday–but that he thought a lady would very much like to have: new clothes, personal items, and bits of household decor that reminded her of the last home she'd known, Merlin's castle. She especially liked candles. Balthazar ordered a stained-glass double sliding door to replace the clear one leading to their balcony, and a custom-made round rug for the living room that featured the Merlin Circle design.<p>

He was feeling a little giddy by the time they finished stowing the last packages into the back of the X5. He helped Veronica climb into the passenger seat, then ran lightly around the vehicle to get behind the wheel. "I'm hungry," he told her with a toothy smile. "How about you? Want some lunch?"

"I'd like to go home," she answered with a touch of melancholy.

His smile vanished. "Veronica, what's wrong?" he asked, taking her hand in his. He realized, belatedly, that she hadn't been nearly as enthusiastic as he about her introduction to life in New York City.

She bowed her head, but held his hand firmly. Softly, she replied, "Everything is so different. There are so many people, so many buildings, and so much confusion all the time. It's not like Merlin's castle...like home. I know you're trying to help by fixing up the penthouse, and I do appreciate it, but still..." She sighed, then continued. " I feel out of place, like I don't belong here."

There was silence for a while then, as Balthazar let her words and their meaning sink in. He sat back in his seat, eyes closed, as the sleep he'd missed threatened to engulf him. Finally, he turned to the passenger beside him. "Veronica, the castle is gone," he said gently. "It's been gone for over a thousand years, and Merlin is gone along with it. I'm sorry."

She nodded once without looking up. She knew, but still it felt to her as if only a few days had passed since that fateful night so long ago.

Balthazar made the best offer he could. "Where would you like to go, dearest? We can move to wherever you want. We don't have to stay here. I can buy some land somewhere, build a replica of the castle for us, only with modern amenities. Just let me know. You're more important to me than anything else. I want you to be happy."

"You make me happy," she responded. "Maybe I just need time to get used to all this." She tried to smile, to show him how much his offer meant to her, but her eyes were still sad. "We can get lunch if you want to." He'd already sacrificed enough for her: she wasn't about to ask more of him.

"I'll order something to go. We can eat back at the penthouse." He lifted the hand he still held and kissed it before letting go. They could continue their discussion this evening.

* * *

><p>That afternoon was the first training session since the day of the battle. Now that Dave had gained self-confidence from his victory, and from Becky's attention, he was able to learn more quickly than before, to produce and control various spells, to remain focused on the task at hand. Becky and Veronica watched, fascinated, from the laboratory's upper level.<p>

"It's like a dance," the younger woman commented. She couldn't see everything that was being conjured below, but she saw the effects when created fire or plasma interacted with existing objects. She saw the movements of her beau's hands, his shifts to one side or another, the concentration on his face that showed glimpses of delight at his own progress.

"Yes," Veronica agreed. "They work well together." She smiled for her companion's sake. Only she saw the fatigue that Balthazar was trying to hide. His steps were slower than usual, his reactions just a little delayed. Those delays could easily be fatal in a real fight. She determined to keep her melancholy hidden from him as much as possible. It was bad enough that she denied him what he desired–only for a little while longer, she reminded herself. Only until they could give themselves to each other pure and unsullied, and then they would have the rest of their lives. She had to be strong enough for both of them–but to let him see her unhappiness would be unforgivably selfish. She wouldn't do that to him if she could help it.

The men were practicing remote swordplay, using detached push-broom handles instead of blades. For this round, Dave held his weapon while his master directed the other one's movements from thirty feet away. "Horvath is better at this than I am," Balthazar admitted to his apprentice. "You'll need to become a real adept to beat him."

Dave protested, "It's the twenty-first century! Nobody uses swords anymore."

"Which is why Horvath thinks you won't know how to fight with one. Let's surprise him, shall we?"

Balthazar's staff cracked against Dave's. He barked out instructions as the broom handles moved. They sparred for a while; then a sudden low sweep behind the student's knees sent Dave crashing forward onto the lab's stone floor.

"If that had been a real sword, you'd be ready for a wheelchair right now," noted the victor. Dave sat up and groaned, rubbing his sore legs and muttering under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Good. Now it's your turn to attack."

Balthazar may not have been as good as Horvath, but he was more than adequate to defend himself from Dave. The attacks, tentative at first, grew more and more aggressive as they continued to miss their mark. "Good!" Balthazar encouraged. "Keep pressing. Don't give your enemy time to think or rest." He ducked barely in time to avoid a blow that would have knocked him senseless had it connected.

Dave complied with his master's orders. Unexpectedly, he found himself actually starting to enjoy the combat practice. I can do this, he thought. Muggers and bullies, watch out! He grinned, pleased with himself, then concentrated on winning the duel. He ceased to think of his opponent as his teacher and friend, seeing him now only as an enemy to be defeated. He continued his attacks with renewed vigor.

The older man was visibly tiring by now. He moved to parry a blow aimed at his side, but his effort lacked the strength needed to stop it. The blow landed, mitigated but little, and he felt himself hurled down and backwards against the bottom of the iron staircase leading to the upper level, his fallen weapon far beyond his reach.

Balthazar, on his back, saw to his horror a wooden staff driving straight down as if to cleave his skull in two. He threw up both arms to protect himself. "Dave!" he called in desperation. "Stop! That's enou..." A force hit the crossed arms above his face, hit them hard and drove them down in one painful instant. He lay stunned.

Above, Veronica had one hand outstretched over the railing, her ring still aglow and her face gone pale with alarm. She hadn't been able to counteract the Prime Merlinian's power, but she was able to send his staff flying after it had struck its target. Becky too was registering shock. The women hurried toward the steps as if on unspoken command.

Dave, for his part, stood frozen in place for a second. Gone now was the battle lust that had taken hold of him, replaced by a deep sense of remorse. "I'm sorry," he tried to say, but only managed a whisper. "I can't believe I just did that."

Balthazar stirred, breaking the spell that kept his apprentice rooted where he was. Dave ran to him. Veronica was already there, on her knees on the lowest step behind the body lodged up against it. With one hand, she held onto the banister. With the other, she reached down and turned his face toward hers. His eyes were open and staring at nothing. A trickle of blood flowed from one nostril. She called his name.

Dave, on his master's other side, dropped to his knees as well. "Hey, Balthazar," he said, clasping his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to hit you like that. I just lost control." Then his throat tightened, and he couldn't speak anymore.

Slowly, the wounded warrior closed his eyes and opened them again. He gave his lady a weak smile before turning his head toward his sparring partner. "Ouch," he declared. He allowed the two of them to help him sit up, which also cleared enough space for the women to reach the lab floor. He looked up at Dave. "Guess I shouldn't have encouraged you quite so much."

The younger sorcerer was still busy with self-recriminations when he made himself meet his master's eyes. There was no blame there, no reproach, and no demand for apologies. He felt himself forgiven, and he smiled.

* * *

><p>Saturday evening at the coffee shop was Dave's introduction to night life outside the world of physics. He sat fidgeting at a table with Becky and three of her friends, including Andre. His fellow college students were enjoying their night, laughing and listening to Becky's tale of her trip to France and back on an airplane "booked last-minute, so we didn't even have time to pack." Dave felt their disbelieving stares as he kept his eyes fixed on the coffee cup in his hands. He was trying to fit in to Becky's world, really he was, but it wasn't easy. He just wasn't interested in popular culture, and nobody else cared about physics. He answered the few questions that were asked of him, but he let his date do most of the talking. He wished he were back at the lab.<p>

Far from both the lab and coffee shop, on a wide penthouse balcony thirty-two floors above the street, Balthazar stood alone and gazed up at the night sky beyond the lights of the city. His thoughts were troubled in a way he hadn't expected, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly why.

Perhaps it was Veronica and her difficulty in adjusting to a thousand-plus year change in the space of only a few days. He'd lived through the changes, adjusting his worldview gradually along with them. She hadn't had such an advantage, if it could be called such.

Or maybe it was Dave and the changes he'd made already in his short life. The Prime Merlinian's purpose had been fulfilled with Morgana's defeat, but the sorcerer war continued. As long as evil existed, the war would continue. Merlin's apprentices would pass out of the world in only a few more decades, if that, leaving Dave alone to fight the evil that remained. Would he have the heart, or the ruthlessness, he would need? Today's incident at the lab told Balthazar that his apprentice was indeed capable. It was a sad necessity.

So much innocence had been lost since the days of Merlin and his elite warrior team, before Veronica had been forced to make her choice known. It hadn't been happiness, although there had been some happy times, but those who lived at the castle had been like family. Balthazar missed that family even now. It would be worse for Veronica, for whom time could not yet be a healing balm.

Veronica...she'd been in the shower a long time. Balthazar went inside to check on her.

* * *

><p>He paused outside the bathroom door. He could hear the water running inside, but no movement from the room's occupant. He knocked.<p>

"Veronica?" he called, a little worried. She didn't answer, so he tried again, louder this time to be sure she heard him. Still nothing.

Well, there was nothing for it. He had to go in. He opened the door slowly, to give her time to stop him if she wanted to, but met no resistance. The room was full of steam. Through the frosted glass of the shower door, he could make out a fuzzy silhouette just standing there under the warm cascade of water.

He tapped on the glass, calling her name one more time. When he got no response, he took the final step; he opened the shower door.

She stood within, her back to the water's flow, with her eyes closed and her arms crossed in front of her, hands resting on opposite shoulders to support her lowered head. At the influx of cooler air from the door's opening, she looked up at the new arrival. Water streamed down her face, but it wasn't from the shower.

Balthazar extended his hand to her. "Veronica, come here," he invited. She didn't move. He reached behind her to shut off the water, then stepped inside to join the woman he loved. He held her close as she wept.

Later–he didn't know how long it had been–she began to shiver with cold. He helped her out onto the bath mat, where she stood while he retrieved a fluffy white robe hanging from a hook inside the bathroom door and wrapped it around her without a word. With one arm around her shoulders then, holding her gently by his side, he guided them to the bed in the adjoining room. There they rested atop the covers, she in her robe and he fully clad, half-upright against the headboard and a pile of pillows, silent in each other's arms.

Balthazar was nearly asleep when his lady finally spoke. "I love you," she said, so softly that at first he thought he'd been dreaming. Then she went on, and he knew the words were real. "I need you. Please, don't ever leave me." He heard the fear in her voice.

He held her tighter. "Veronica, I'm here," he assured her. "Why are you afraid?"

She was struggling, he could tell. He gave her the time she needed, until she found a way to let him know her anxious thoughts. "That night..." she began. "When we lost Merlin and everyone else...I saw you, and Morgana, and I...I couldn't bear to lose you, too." She was unable to go on for a minute. He rubbed her back, giving her what comfort he could. She continued. "Then, when you freed me from her, it was no better. You were taken from me anyway."

He thought he understood now. "And then this afternoon, at the lab..." He felt her nodding against his chest. He didn't know what else to say, so he said nothing. The risks couldn't be helped. They both knew it, had accepted it as a fact of life since they'd first become involved in the war. True, they'd always felt secure at the castle, with Merlin in his stronghold. The betrayal had changed all that. There was no security anywhere now, not even here in a comfortable penthouse in modern America.

He thought he understood, but he didn't, not completely. There was more that was troubling her than the physical danger they'd had to endure for so long. His injury was merely the tipping point that caused an overflow. Her next question caught him completely off guard.

"Have you...have there been...others? While I was in the Grimhold?"

He froze, shocked. Slowly then, he laid one hand upon her tear-stained cheek, lifting her face to meet his. "Never," he said in all sincerity. "You're the only one I've ever wanted."

"Never? Alone, all those years, you didn't...? Not even once?" It wasn't an accusation; she just wanted to know for sure.

He answered honestly. "I thought about it once or twice. Well, okay, more than that. A man gets lonely." She winced at the reminder she didn't need. He was sorry for that, but she had to hear it, had to know the truth. "It would only be one night, and you would never know. But _I_ would know. I couldn't do it." He wiped the tears from her eyes and added, "You mean too much to me, Veronica. I could never hurt you like that."

At last, she revealed her worst and final fear. "And now? With our agreement?"

"What, to wait another year?"

"Yes. I know you don't want to." He looked away, and she went on, though her anxiety made speaking difficult. "You left me alone last night. I drove you away, didn't I? What's going to happen over the coming months? I'm so afraid of losing you."

"It is hard," Balthazar admitted. "We don't have forever anymore."

"Will you leave again tonight?"

He sighed. He wanted to stay, to be here with her, even if they did nothing more than hold each other as they were doing now. He was so tired...

But he'd made a promise.

"I have to," he told her. She looked down, and the tears started again. "It's not your fault, dearest," he hastened to add. "Don't worry. I know you've been faithful to me, even before you told me the choice you'd made all those years ago. How could I be less than true to you, my one and only love?" He kissed her brow. "I've waited for you this long. I can wait a little longer. You're worth waiting for."

Her dark hair was still wet from the shower. He stroked it anyway until she finally lifted her head. With no makeup, her hair unkempt, and brown eyes red from crying, she was still the most beautiful thing in the world to him. He kissed her fully to drive her doubts away.


	5. Lovers' quarrel

"Where does he go every night?" Dave wondered aloud. Balthazar had just left the penthouse, for the third night in a row, again without satisfying his roommates' curiosity. They'd established that he went to the lab first, where the Phantom was customarily parked, then drove it to the Chrysler Building and the steel gargoyle that became his friend the great eagle. That was as far as they'd tracked him.

Veronica, standing beside Dave on the balcony, peered in the direction of that remarkable building, waiting. After a while, the two spotted a green glow high above the deck where they knew the gargoyle had been. Balthazar was sending a signal to every sorcerer in the area. The glow soared with its carrier, flying in ever-widening circles to the edge of the city and far beyond. Eventually, it moved past the observers' line of sight.

"I don't know," the woman answered. "He's searching for someone, but he won't tell me who."

Dave tried to be logical. "Well, we know it's another sorcerer, right?"

"Yes, of course." They'd figured that out when Becky said she couldn't see the glow.

"Okay, so who's the only other sorcerer in town? The only one who's awake, anyway." He spread his hands as if to say, isn't it obvious? "It has to be Horvath."

Veronica shook her head. "No, I don't think so. It doesn't make sense. Besides, Balthazar would have told us if it were."

With a shrug, the young apprentice turned away from the railing to go back inside. "Well, I'm sure we'll find out eventually," he said. "I just wish he trusted us enough to tell us now. The man is too used to keeping secrets. Probably a survival mechanism he had to develop, but it's really annoying sometimes, you know?"

She smiled. "He does trust us," she asserted with complete confidence. "We need to trust him, too, Dave. He's doing what he thinks is best for all of us."

"Best for us, maybe–you and me, that is–but he really should take better care of himself. One of these nights, he's gonna fall asleep and fall right off that eagle. Why can't he search during the day, like normal people?"

"He does. Haven't you noticed? It's just that he stays on the ground then."

"Oh." Dave hadn't noticed, having been too busy with his own life to pay attention to his master. They didn't train on Sunday, so he'd had the day free to spend as he wished. Becky was on an outing with her girlfriends, leaving her boyfriend on his own. Dave had chosen to visit Bennett, and they'd gone to see a movie as Dave's way of thanking his former roommate for taking care of Tank. It was good to see Bennett again, but Dave couldn't help thinking that it had largely been a wasted day. He was looking forward to tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Now, seeing Balthazar lay the Monday morning newspaper on the table in front of him, Dave seriously considered telling him to go home and get some sleep. They could put off training until later, after Becky was done at the radio station and had been driven safely back to her residence. Dave considered it, but in the end said nothing: Balthazar wouldn't listen to him anyway.<p>

The headline screamed something about a bomb at the UBS building that had been set off yesterday afternoon. Since the penthouse didn't have a TV, they didn't listen much to the radio, and Dave hadn't been online all weekend, this was the first he'd heard of the incident.

Balthazar was reading the lead story with a puzzled frown. "A bomb?" he asked doubtfully. "They didn't find any evidence of one, and nobody's claimed credit. It doesn't sound like a terrorist attack."

"Oh!" Dave suddenly remembered the article he'd found so interesting. "Here." He leaned forward and flipped through the paper until he came to the right page. He pointed.

Balthazar read aloud: "Illusionist pulls off his greatest stunt ever. Celebrity magician Drake Stone, comatose since last Wednesday, vanished late last night from the hospital where he was being treated. He and a companion were found at his home Thursday morning, the apparent victims of a mysterious attack or illness. Both have now disappeared. Security officials are at a loss to explain what might have happened. Surveillance cameras show no unauthorized personnel, and no alarms were set off. An investigation has been launched into the matter."

Looking up at his apprentice, Balthazar uttered his own conclusion. "It's Horvath."

"Are you sure?"

"It has to be. Drake and Abigail were hit with the Parasite Spell. Nobody comes out of that without help. The question is 'why?' He wouldn't revive them without some assurance that they'll cooperate."

Dave had a less-than-charitable suggestion. "Well, Drake doesn't seem all that smart. I never saw the witch girl, but her Grimhold picture made her look pretty young. Maybe Horvath can talk them into doing what he wants again, even though he already betrayed them once."

Balthazar shook his head. "More likely, he's using either blackmail or intimidation. I suspect that 'bomb' was his way of demonstrating his new power."

"But that was in the afternoon," Dave pointed out. "They didn't disappear until later."

The master sat back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. "You're right," he conceded. "I forgot."

"They say the memory is the first thing to go." The younger sorcerer couldn't help grinning.

"Oh, shut up."

"So, um, you wanna start today's lesson, or wait until later, or what?"

Balthazar stood. "Later, I think. I need to go home and warn Veronica. You can come with me, or you can stay here until we get back. That might be a while, though, depending on how long the door installers take." They were scheduled to come sometime that afternoon, so the lady of the house had remained to let them in.

"Well, seeing as how I left her my Encantus so she could catch up on everything, I can't very well study while you're gone. I'll come with you."

Balthazar let his roommate drive the X5 back to the penthouse. He kept a watchful eye on their surroundings from the passenger seat, not speaking but clearly thinking hard. Dave let him be.

Upstairs, Veronica was curled up on the sofa, the open Encantus on her lap and soft classical music playing from the stereo. She glanced up as the men entered.

"You're not practicing today?" she inquired.

"There's a new development," Balthazar replied. He told her about the news article and his interpretation of it. "The three of them will be working together now. Horvath will be the leader, the one with the strategy they plan to use."

Dave tried to downplay the implied threat. He shrugged. "So what? It's three against three, then, and we've already beaten these guys at least once. Yeah, Horvath is stronger now since he took my ring, but I know how to disarm him. Balthazar had the witch girl in the Grimhold. As for Drake, he shouldn't be a problem for any of us, even with Horvath's training."

The master shook his head. "A week ago, I would have agreed with you," he said. "The goal then was to release Morgana, and let her do all the dark magic they needed. Things have changed. The need has been delegated."

"To Horvath, you mean? Dark magic, like the Parasite Spell?"

"Yes and yes."

"But he did that before he released Morgana. It's not a change."

"Dave, he had to use the spell to acquire enough power. He wouldn't have used it otherwise. Dark magic always has a price. Only Morgana was strong enough to use it..." He paused, remembering something, "Well, most of it, at will. Now, with the three Morganians working together, they can afford to use more spells. You can bet Horvath will teach the others some nasty new tricks."

Dave swallowed. This wasn't exactly comforting information. "Um, so, what other spells should we expect? And what's this price you mentioned?"

The door installers chose that moment to arrive. Veronica let them in, and the subject of magic was abruptly dropped. They were still there when Dave had to leave to pick up Becky. He would have to wait to hear more about dark magic.

* * *

><p>He came back somewhat later than he'd expected. Becky had allowed him to take her out to dinner, and the young couple spent the time enjoying each other's company. He'd forgotten about the topic that so worried his master by the time he emerged from the elevator on the top floor of the condominium.<p>

Dave had his hand on the doorknob when he heard from inside a sound that stopped him in his tracks. It was a sound he'd heard many years before, one he'd hoped to never hear again: the sound of a couple arguing over him.

"He has to know, Veronica." Balthazar's voice was angry but controlled.

"Why?" she demanded. "We never used it. Merlin never used it. It's too destructive."

"Even if he doesn't use it, he should still know about it. That's the only way he can defend himself. I know you never learned, but that was only because you didn't have to. You had me and Merlin to protect you."

A hint of pleading crept into the woman's voice. "That's right, Balthazar. I didn't have to, and Dave doesn't have to, either. Spare him. That kind of knowledge eats away a person's soul. Look what it did to Horvath."

"And to me? Is that what you're saying?" There was a little less control now.

"No! Balthazar, no! You resisted. I don't know how, maybe because you never used it outside of practice, but you're stronger than most. Dave is just a boy."

"He's the Prime Merlinian, Veronica. He's stronger than I am."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it!"

"What I know is, I've been through too much: first the quest, then the fun and games trying to make him realize what he can do, and finally he gets it. We've both come too far to back down now."

"Don't you understand?" she countered. "You've awoken the spirit of Merlin in him. Learning Morgana's magic will corrupt that. He won't be innocent anymore. He'll become hardened, less able to love or to accept love. Don't do that to him."

"He took an oath, just like the rest of us. Like it or not, he's a warrior now."

"Then get this war over with!"

"I'm trying! I'd like some support from you!"

There were a few seconds of silence, then Veronica whispered something. Dave strained to hear. "Balthazar, your ring."

The penthouse door opened on its own. Balthazar stood in the middle of the living room, his back to the opening. "Come in, Dave," he said calmly.

Sheepishly, the eavesdropper stepped inside. "Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't want to butt in."

"How much did you hear?"

Dave told him. Veronica stared at the floor, obviously still upset. Balthazar nodded, then turned away from her and strode toward the door. "Where are you going?" she called after him.

"Out. I need some air." Then he was gone.

Dave stood awkwardly where he was, wishing he were somewhere else, anywhere else. Veronica didn't look at him, but moved to face the stained-glass balcony doors that had just been installed. She crossed her arms tightly in front of her. Soon, the slender shoulders began to shake. She was trying hard not to cry, but that battle was already lost. Seeing her sorrow, Dave couldn't help a flash of resentment for the one who'd hurt this noble woman. She didn't deserve this pain.

Dave had no idea what to do, or indeed if there was anything he _could_ do. Words of comfort had never come easily to him. He wanted to slip away quietly to his room, to lose himself in his studies before going to sleep, but he couldn't just leave her this way. Balthazar had left them both in turmoil. Thanks a lot, pal, he thought bitterly. You and I are going to have words about this when you get back.

He stepped to Veronica's side, where his master should have been. She stood gazing at the doors before them, tears streaming down her upturned face. He tried a distraction. "They're beautiful," he told her, nodding toward the colorful stained-glass designs.

She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to smile. "Yes," she finally agreed. "Those are the patterns that were used in Merlin's training room windows."

"Ah, nice." The silence stretched. Then, because he didn't know what else to say, he asked, "You miss them, don't you? The castle, and Merlin?"

"Yes. I miss home, and the family I had there."

"Family? You mean you had your parents there with you? Brothers and sisters?"

Now she turned her eyes toward her companion. The tears had stopped, he was glad to note. "No," she said. "I mean the people who lived there were like family to me. Merlin was the head, of course. I still have Balthazar..." She swallowed and fell silent again.

"And Horvath?" What impulse had made him ask that, Dave wondered?

"Horvath...was our brother. He wanted to be more to me, but I just couldn't love him that way. He turned against us."

"Yeah, I know he tried to kill Balthazar a couple of times. So much for brotherly love, eh?"

"For his part, perhaps. We...Balthazar and I...still believe he can come back. We've shared so much, over so many years... Horvath can't have forgotten it all. There is still hope."

"You really think so?" Dave wasn't nearly so certain. "He's not so corrupted by learning dark magic that he's beyond help?"

She replied without hesitation, "That's what we believe. It won't be easy, but we have to believe it's possible."

"I hope you're right." He gave her an encouraging smile, and was rewarded by a grateful squeeze of her hand upon his.

"Thank you, Dave," she told him. "I'm glad you're here."


	6. Narrow escape

Balthazar was back the next morning, asleep on the living room couch when Dave emerged from his room to grab some breakfast before school. It had been this way yesterday, too.

Dave had anticipated this. He held his sneakers in one hand, padding lightly in stocking feet across the floor to the dining area. He set them down on the kitchen floor beside a chair. Breakfast consisted of a packet of strawberry Pop-Tarts, straight from the wrapper, and a bottle of Mountain Dew.

He heard a rustling from the couch. Slowly, a tousled mop of hair came into view over the back of the sofa, followed by leather-clad shoulders. Balthazar was up, again.

Dave shook his head. "Sorry," he apologized. "I was trying to be as quiet as I could. I even had my shoes off today."

His master's voice was rough from lack of sleep. "It's all right," he answered, waving a hand casually without turning around. "We learn to keep our ears open when we're expecting trouble, even when we're asleep."

"Yeah, well, you'd probably get more rest if you actually used that bed you bought. You're not doing yourself or anybody else any good by staying up so much."

Balthazar shifted in his seat. He glared back at his apprentice and replied, "I have my reasons. You already know one of them."

"See? You're grumpy. And you weren't very nice to Veronica last night, either."

"I am not grumpy," said the older man grumpily. "Veronica and I had a disagreement, that's all. It's none of your business."

"You were arguing about me. That makes it my business."

Balthazar closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he struggled to his feet, took a few minutes to stretch, and climbed the two steps to the kitchen. He set the coffeemaker to brew. Finally, he seemed to have regained his composure. "You heard the subject of our discussion," he acknowledged. "I say you should learn as much as possible about the enemy and the weapons he's likely to use against you. Veronica says that learning can be as dangerous as the weapons themselves–dangerous to the soul, that is. I've decided to leave that choice up to you. Think about it, Dave. Let us know tonight what you want to do."

"Okay." Dave caught a movement to one side, and jerked his head to face it. Veronica was up now, too, standing in her robe and nightgown at the entrance to her room. Her face reflected the uncertainty that hadn't been resolved from the night before. He nodded toward her. "Good morning, Veronica."

She nodded back, but said nothing. She was still upset from last night's confrontation, though sleep had taken off the edge. She kept her worried eyes fixed on Balthazar.

It was time to go. Dave wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Quickly, he donned his sneakers and jacket, grabbed his textbook and papers in one hand, and the unfinished bottle of soda in the other. "I'll see you two later," he called back over his shoulder as he left. "Hopefully, we'll all be feeling better by then."

Balthazar waited until he and Veronica were alone. They stared at each other for a minute, not knowing what to expect. The smell of brewing coffee filled the room.

Balthazar broke first. He smiled, and the tension in both their faces relaxed. Without a word, he crossed the short distance between them and pulled her close, just holding her in a long and silent embrace. When at last he stepped back, he found the words he wanted to say.

"Veronica, I need to ask your forgiveness. Dave was right; I wasn't very nice to you last night. In fact, I was acting like a total Morganian. I'm sorry."

"You didn't need to ask," she countered. "But thank you." She kissed his cheek before moving past him to the dining area. "What would you like for breakfast?" He'd been teaching her how to cook, and she wanted to try out her new skills.

"Whatever you make is fine," he responded unhelpfully. "Then we can go to the lab, and I can teach you some other things. There have been a lot of new spells invented since Merlin's time, and most of them are from places outside England...er, Britain."

"Many changes." Veronica sounded sad but resigned. "Maybe I can find a place to fit in once I learn more about this new world. I'd like to be needed again."

"You _are_ needed," Balthazar assured her. "I need you. Horvath needs you, too. You're the only thing that's kept us both sane all these years. You're everything good in this world. Isn't that enough?"

"Maybe," she conceded, but didn't elaborate. "Maybe I just need time."

* * *

><p>Dave joined his elders at the lab after his classes were finished for the day. He leaned his elbows on the railing of the upper walkway, watching his master teach someone else for a change. Veronica was learning the cloaking spell. Small objects were easy, but the spell's difficulty increased with the object's size. She managed to render the Encantus invisible before her energy gave out.<p>

"Not bad," her teacher said with a nod of approval. He glanced up at the new arrival. "Dave, would you like to try this?"

"Sure. How?"

"Come on down and we'll show you." With a wave of his hand, he lifted the cloaking spell from the sorcerer's textbook. He made it seem effortless.

Later, when the three of them had finished a productive lesson and were getting ready to leave, Balthazar asked the question they'd all been avoiding: "So, Dave, did you think about what we were discussing this morning?" He and Veronica paused on the walkway ahead of him, waiting.

Once again, Dave wished he were somewhere else. The tension was back, albeit better hidden this time. He avoided both their gazes. "Yes," he finally answered. "I talked to Becky about it, and..." Yeah, he chided himself. Blame it on Becky, chicken Dave. "And..._I_ decided to wait. Don't teach me dark magic unless I absolutely have to know. Right now, I don't need to know." He dared to meet his master's eyes.

Balthazar was expressionless. "So be it," he said. Then he turned away and led them all outside.

* * *

><p>Eight days after the battle at Bowling Green, the enemies met again. Even before he parked the Phantom in its usual place at the foot of the Chrysler Building that Thursday evening, Balthazar knew something was amiss. There was nothing concrete to back up the vague feeling that he was being stalked–a vehicle following his for a while, stares from strangers that he passed, nothing out of place in the city he'd come to call home–but there was something different tonight. He sat in the car, deliberating. No sense taking unnecessary chances, he thought. I'll just go somewhere else and call my friend to me there.<p>

A car had pulled into the space directly in front of him while he'd been thinking, too close for him to maneuver the Phantom out past it. He prepared to back out instead, only to discover another vehicle practically sitting on his back bumper. Balthazar's instinct had been right; this was definitely a setup.

He reached outside, laying his hand flat on the rooftop. A motorcycle would be small and agile enough to get him out of here, he figured.

The transformation never happened. He'd barely touched the metal above him when a blue bolt struck out of nowhere. He felt his arm go numb before it fell limply to hang outside the car door.

He used his other arm to pull the wounded one back inside. The sorcerer ring was useless until his hand regained feeling, if indeed he was given enough time for that. Things were not looking good.

Horvath appeared at last, emerging from the shadow of another building just across the street. He looked supremely self-confident. Nor was he alone. Converging on the trapped Phantom were three others: Drake Stone, Abigail Williams, and an older woman unknown to the lone Merlinian. The younger pair blocked the passenger door.

"Hello, Balthazar," his old nemesis began. "Alone, I see? Really, you should have known better."

"What do you want, Horvath?"

"What I've always wanted." He smiled and changed the subject. "But I'm being rude, aren't I? You haven't met the newest member of my team." He waved a hand at the older woman. "Balthazar, this is Chandra Kolinsky, just recently returned from exile. She was Drake's master."

"Pleasure, I'm sure," the driver responded. The woman remained silent.

"So, Balthazar," Horvath went on as if continuing a casual chat, "tell me, who is it you've been looking for?" He received no answer, nor did he expect one. He sighed. "Why must you always force me to hurt you?" That earned a chuckle from the pair on the car's opposite side, and a smirk from the woman. Horvath seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

A wave of the jewel-tipped cane sent a blast into the side of his enemy's vehicle. The car door crumpled while the occupant struggled to move away, across the seat to the other side.

"Get out," Horvath commanded, no longer casual. He emphasized the order with another blast to the hood. The Flying Lady broke off and fell onto the sidewalk beside Abigail.

Balthazar had been concentrating. He was outnumbered and temporarily powerless, but that didn't stop him from using his head. He raised his good hand in apparent surrender.

A mere second later, the Morganian team fell like bowling pins. They sprawled in confusion, knocked over by a force from above that screeched and brushed them all aside. Horvath was the first to figure it out. He cursed at the steel eagle and the Phantom it bore in its talons, even now far beyond his reach.

He helped Chandra to her feet. "That blasted eagle," he complained. "Next time, we'll have to catch him somewhere it can't get to him."

"Indoors or underground, then," she suggested.

"Yes. He's not likely to be out alone anymore, either. We'll have to update our plan."

* * *

><p>The eagle set him down near the river's edge. It settled on the ground beside the damaged car, waiting for the driver to emerge.<p>

Balthazar climbed out from the passenger side, since the driver's side door was too badly crumpled to open. He staggered upright and leaned back against the Phantom. "That was too close for comfort," he told his rescuer. "You saved my life, again. Thank you."

His arm was beginning to tingle, a sign that full sensation would be restored shortly. So Horvath had another ally now, he thought. That would explain the UBS "bomb." He would have to keep his own team closer than ever. Dave wasn't going to like it, and neither would Becky, but there was no help for it.

Meanwhile, he had a job to do. Tonight would be the last time he could afford to search like this, and he wasn't about to let the time go to waste. He climbed onto the eagle's back, carefully since he still only had one good hand, and perched securely in the makeshift saddle. He slipped the sorcerer ring off and awkwardly pushed it onto a finger of his left hand, above the ring that was already there. It didn't feel right, but at least it would work now. He patted the eagle in front of the saddle area. "All right, boy, I'm ready. One last trip around the city, and then I'll have to come up with a new search method." He glanced aside. "After I fix my car."

* * *

><p>On a tree-covered slope well away from the roads and houses behind him, a lone horseman stood motionless upon the crest, a graceful silhouette in the New Jersey moonlight. Below, the slope dropped away into steep bluffs until it disappeared at the edge of a wide river. He'd ridden up and down the shoreline, looking for a discreet way to cross, but everywhere the humans kept guard. Beyond the river, a great city loomed, with buildings taller than any he'd ever seen before. This was where his ring was leading him.<p>

The man sat astride his mount, considering his options, when a green glow in the sky attracted his attention. It was far away above the city, but it was moving. He'd seen other lights in the night sky, red and green and white and blinking yellow, but always they'd kept to a straight path. This was different. It was lower, and its pattern was a spiral ever widening. The color reminded him of one he'd known long ago, one he hoped to see again very soon.

He watched until the glow neared enough for him to see the source. Unlike the flying craft he'd seen before, this was a creature he recognized, at least in form. It was a giant eagle made of metal, nearly hidden by the darkness despite its bulk but for the green signal it carried on its back.

He bit back his first, impulsive cry of joy at this evidence of sorcery. It seemed an easy thing to send an answering red light, to allow himself to be discovered alone on this hilltop. Caution born of experience overrode the impulse. He didn't know the rider's identity or his purpose, and assuming was always dangerous. Instead, he watched and waited until the eagle ended its flight back at the center of the spiral. He would meet the sorcerer on his own terms.

It was late now, and he'd ridden much this day. Both he and his horse were tired. Now that his destination was in sight and the presence of a sorcerer there was confirmed, the man was content to wait until morning before he traversed the last leg of his journey. Tomorrow would be a good day.

* * *

><p>"Becky, I have some bad news."<p>

The blonde beside him wasn't surprised. "I thought something was wrong," she observed. "Does it have anything to do with the missing hood ornament?" She meant the Flying Lady, the absence of which she'd noticed as soon as she got in the otherwise completely restored Phantom.

"Well, yeah, kind of," Dave admitted. "Balthazar had a run-in with the Morganians last night. There's one more of them than we thought. It looks like they're getting bold enough to attack us now."

Becky scowled. "Dave..." she began.

"I know." Of them all, she was the most vulnerable. "I don't want to scare you, but we need to be really careful. You might want to, um...not go to work for a while. Until we're sure it's safe."

She rejected that idea outright. "No, Dave," she declared. "You know how I feel about my radio show. I'm not going to let fear run my life."

They arrived at the campus building where her English class would begin in a few minutes. Dave let the car idle in front of an occupied parking space while they continued their discussion. "Well, how about if I hang out with you then, up at the studio?"

"What, as a bodyguard?"

"More or less."

She considered. When she spoke next, her words invoked a leaden weight in the pit of Dave's stomach. "Maybe...maybe we've been moving too fast, Dave," she said. "I mean, I really appreciate you helping me with my midterms, but I had no idea I'd have to change my life."

"What are you saying, Becky?"

"I'm saying, maybe we should back off for a while, until you get this war finished. I don't like being used as a pawn. I was really scared, Dave. Everything turned out all right, but I thought it was over. Now you tell me that we're still in danger. How do I know that you're not going to be dead tomorrow, or that I will be? It's nerve-wracking."

Quietly, Dave replied, "I understand." He felt his world crumbling, and he cursed the cruelty of fate. He was the world's most powerful sorcerer, but the vagaries of love eluded him.

His companion saw his distress and took pity on him. "Look, Dave," she proposed. "This is the last day of classes before Spring Break. Why don't we go away this year, maybe to Virginia Beach? We could both use a vacation."

Dave wasn't interested in visiting a beach, but Becky was right: they _could_ use a vacation. Last year, he'd stayed in town for the week, happily fiddling with his science experiments relatively free from interruptions. This year, though, things had changed. He liked her suggestion. It would give him time to be with Becky away from college life.

They needed the time. Things weren't going as smoothly as he'd hoped once the initial elation wore off. She felt left out because she couldn't participate in his sorcerer activities. It didn't help that he was becoming a skilled physicist, with the attendant respect that such a career path commanded in the job market. His tutelage of the subject only emphasized the gap between them. "You make me feel like a real idiot sometimes, like the stereotypical dumb blonde," she'd sulked at one point. His awkward apology failed to mollify her.

As for Dave, he found himself less and less interested in the normal goings-on at NYU. He'd never exactly been a social butterfly, as Bennett could confirm, but now he didn't even care. He was starting to see the students almost as children in their ignorance, and the professors weren't much better. He _knew_ things, knew the rules they didn't, saw the world in ways they never could. He was the Prime Merlinian, heir to Merlin himself! That was the world to which he was drawn. Only his affection for Becky kept him from abandoning what he'd always said he wanted, just a normal life. He needed her to keep him anchored here in the civilian world.

'Civilian,' he mused wryly. I'm even starting to think like a sorcerer. That's progress, I suppose.

"Good idea," he told her at last. Even sorcerers needed a break now and then.

She smiled. "You can hang out with me at the studio this afternoon if you want to. Just stay out of everyone's way."

"It's a deal."


	7. Reunion

The sun was still low in the sky when a nervous horse wove its way through rush-hour traffic to the double yellow lines in the middle of the street. Its rider was a bit nervous, too, which didn't help the animal's anxiety.

The Holland Tunnel was the best option available to the odd travelers. Neither the ferries nor the George Washington Bridge allowed horses, and this tunnel was closer than the Lincoln one. At this time of day, traffic lights at both ends kept the vehicles in a slow-stop-slow-stop pattern all the way through.

The horse walked between the two lines of metal carriages, trembling at their nearness and the noise that was amplified all around them. The rider kept firm control as he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, yearning for the end of this passage. Several carriage drivers lowered their windows to gape at them or to shout comments and questions. The rider ignored them. He had a destination; he wasn't interested in human curiosity.

One passenger asked the driver of his carpool, "What's that all about, do you think?"

The driver shrugged. "Someone's probably making a movie."

* * *

><p>"When are you leaving?" Balthazar asked. Dave had just told him about his plans to go away for Spring Break. "After last night, it might not be a good idea to split us up too soon."<p>

Here it was again, the choice between Becky and Balthazar. Again, Becky won. "We were thinking tomorrow or Sunday." His master just stared until Dave began to fidget. "Well," he conceded "maybe I can ask her to wait until Monday. That's as late as I'm willing to go. We only have one week."

"Thank you," said Balthazar quietly. He knew better than to ask for more. He didn't begrudge his apprentice the time away, despite his own worries about the consequences. He kept those worries to himself.

Dave's auxiliary coil control cage had been moved to the center of the Merlin Circle engraved in the lab floor. Veronica was busy examining one of the giant Tesla coils, but now she addressed the physics major. "Dave, will you teach me about these?" she asked. "I want to know more about this thing you call 'electricity.'"

"There's a lot to teach," he responded. He glanced at his watch. "We have about three-and-a-half hours before I have to leave for class. I hope you're a fast learner."

Veronica had gained control of the energy bolts, directing them when and where she willed, when Balthazar caught a new movement from above. He held up a hand, and the show halted. All three sorcerers stared upward at the walkway, from whence came the unexpected interruption.

A man stood there, leaning on the railing, his dark hair long and shaggy, his clothes tattered and dirty from traveling, wearing a red-stoned ring on his right hand. He was smiling.

The sorcerers below gaped. The tableau dissolved in the next instant with a whoop from Balthazar. He bolted up the stairs to the newcomer, grabbing him and spinning him around in an exuberant embrace. His delight was infectious; the two below caught it despite their bewilderment. Then recognition dawned in Veronica's eyes. She raised her hands to cover a sudden gasp.

The men on the walkway parted enough to see each other's faces clearly. The traveler spoke first. "Balthazar, you're _old._"

Balthazar was too happy to be insulted. He simply laughed while Veronica looked on in astonishment. Dave, on the other hand, was too confused to know what to think. He called to anyone who'd listen, "Will someone please tell me what's going on?"

Still chuckling, his master gave the new arrival a friendly slap on the back before turning them both to face his apprentice. "Dave," he announced, "I want you to meet the man I've been searching for. This is Master Alvar, my teacher, my friend, and the only one I've ever called my master."

* * *

><p>The four gathered on the lab floor by the foot of the steps. Alvar bowed his head to the lady. "You must be Veronica," he surmised. "Pardon my appearance, please; I haven't had the chance to tidy up. From what Balthazar tells me, I haven't exactly been myself for a very long time, and this last week has been spent on the road." He took her hand to kiss it, and she beamed with pleasure. "You're even more lovely now than you were as a girl," he told her. "And you're a brave lady, too. My boy chose well."<p>

She recovered her composure enough to respond. "Alvar," she replied. She finished her greeting with a welcoming embrace of her own. "You're here, and you can speak. What happened? I thought we'd lost you the night of the attack. I'm so glad I was wrong."

Dave was feeling somewhat left out. He cleared his throat. "Um, hello? I don't want to interrupt your family reunion or anything, but would somebody fill me in here? I'm not a mind reader, you know."

Balthazar stood between his master and his apprentice, clapping a hand on each one's shoulder to form a living bridge. "You're not a mind reader yet, Dave," he corrected. "You'll get to that point when you find someone to be your own apprentice. It's a special kind of bond that lets you know he's the one you were meant to find."

"Oh? What rule is that?"

"It's not a rule. It's just my personal theory, based on experience."

"Well, that's a change. Anyway, I'm really confused. No offense, Alvar..." he nodded toward the other sorcerer, "but Balthazar, I thought Merlin was your master."

"He was my teacher, my university professor, if you will. Before that, I was trained by the man who found me when I was just a boy. I was his first and only apprentice. Alvar is my first and only master."

"Okay," Dave allowed. "I guess I can understand that." He tried to think of anyone but Balthazar as his own master, but the very concept was too outlandish to entertain for long. He still had other questions that cried out for answers. To the shaggy newcomer, he directed the next one. "So, Alvar, you lived at the castle, too?"

Instead of replying, however, Alvar looked around at the lab and its sparse accommodations. "Perhaps we should find a place to sit," he said. "This will take a while to explain, and Balthazar is the best one to do that."

* * *

><p>Dave sat slack-jawed at the kitchen table that had been brought here from his old apartment. He stared across the table at the eldest of their group. "You were Morgana's apprentice?" he asked again, as if he couldn't believe the answer he'd already been given. He turned slowly to face his master, seated to his left. "So you...?"<p>

Balthazar nodded. "Yes. I was a Morganian."

"Whoa. I think I've fallen down the rabbit hole. So let me get this straight: you were Morganian but now you're Merlinian. Horvath was Merlinian but now he's Morganian. Veronica was always Merlinian. And Alvar...?"

Alvar spoke for himself. "I'm neither. I never wanted to be caught up in the sorcerer war. My part in it was over the day I died, and I have no intention of enlisting again."

On Dave's other side, Veronica frowned. "Alvar, none of us wants to fight, either. We'd all like nothing better than to get this war over with as quickly as possible. We fight because we have to, because we want mankind to be free."

"That's a commendable sentiment, my dear, but I'm afraid it's rather naive." Taking in the blank expressions around him, Alvar explained. "People will always be slaves to something, whether it's their ruling class, another people, or simply their own appetites. The Morganian goal is nothing new. Even if you eliminate every Morganian sorcerer out there, there will always be someone else who wants to rule the world. The freedom of mankind is a hopeless cause."

"Well, that's rather dour," commented Dave.

"Dour but true. At any rate, who's in charge of the two factions? Merlin is dead. Morgana is dead. Why should the foot soldiers keep fighting?"

After a moment of silence, Balthazar offered, "I suppose I'm in charge of the Merlinian side for now. Horvath is heading up the opposition."

"Is Horvath's goal the same as Morgana's?"

Dave shrugged. "Of course it is. He told me all he wanted was power and control. 'Whom you own,' he said." Dave remembered that encounter all too well, when he'd first realized that the enemy really was serious.

Alvar sat back in his chair. "Maybe," he allowed. "You know him better than I do. However, having had firsthand knowledge of the Morganian community, I can tell you that we...I mean, _they_ don't all think alike. Most were satisfied with being in charge of their own little enclaves. They didn't care about taking over the world. That was Morgana's goal, not theirs."

"I think it's Horvath's goal, too," Dave insisted. "Otherwise, why would he have spent all those years trying to free Morgana from the Grimhold? He knew he needed her help to get rid of the Merlinians so his side could take over."

Balthazar had been thinking while his friends debated. He'd had his suspicions concerning his master's question about goals, and the incident from the previous night only made them stronger. He voiced them quietly. "I asked Horvath what he wanted last night. He said it was the same thing he'd always wanted. There's only one thing he's always wanted." The others waited, and he nodded to the one sitting across the table from him. "Veronica."

"He still loves her?" Dave found that incredible; but then again, Balthazar still loved her, too.

"It may not be love anymore," his master replied. "Dark magic corrupts, as you know. It may be that now he just wants to own her. He thinks Veronica belongs to him, and that I've stolen what was rightfully his." He reached across the table and took his beloved's hand. "That's why I don't dare leave you alone while he's still around."

Dave realized something then. "Balthazar, when you said you wanted me to live with you for protection, you meant it, didn't you?"

"Yes, Dave, I meant it. It wasn't just something I made up to make you look good for Becky."

"Becky..." He was abruptly reminded of the day's schedule. He checked his watch and leaped from his chair. "Oh, man, I'm late for class. I've gotta go. I told Becky I'd stay with her at the studio today, too, so I won't be back until this evening. I guess I'll see you all later...where? Are you staying here?"

"Yes, we'll be here," Balthazar answered.

Alvar gave one last warning before Dave reached the exit door. "Watch your step when you go outside. My horse just ate before I came in."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Alvar, where's your horse?" Dave demanded as he and his girlfriend descended the steps of the underground lab early that evening. "I wanted to show Becky, but there's nothing out there."<p>

The pair stopped in the middle of the floor, puzzled wonderment on their faces as they gazed at the transformation before their eyes. Dave's temporary sleeping quarters had been vastly improved. "Wow," he commented. "You guys have been busy."

The converted alcove was furnished now with a matched bedroom set in sturdy oak: a single bed against one wall, with a dresser, wardrobe, and foot locker nearby. Along the opposite wall was a desk and chair, also of oak, upon which sat a shielded desktop computer. A companion bookcase stood beside the desk, its top shelf already filled. A steel door with a generous window had been installed in a hastily constructed wooden wall at the alcove's entrance, the whole set just behind wire mesh that stretched from floor to ceiling. Only the door was unshielded, and it was open at the moment.

Alvar was hanging up his new outfits in the wardrobe. He, too, had been vastly improved. Gone was the shaggy mane he'd sported a few hours earlier, in favor of the cut he'd always preferred: short, with a trim black beard and mustache to match. The tatters he'd worn had been replaced by a simple white dress shirt and jeans, below which showed the brown leather of cowboy boots. He finished his task and greeted the young couple with a satisfied smile. "Welcome back, Dave," he said. He bowed his head to the lady. "And you would be Becky, I take it?"

"Yeah. Hi." She waved a hand.

From the kitchen area, the smell of food wafted and set Dave's stomach rumbling. "Dinnertime!" Balthazar announced from his post beside the table. Veronica was already seated, and the other three headed her way. The host continued. "Hope everyone likes pizza. I got three different kinds, so you should be able to find something you like. Drinks are in the fridge."

When everyone had been served, Balthazar sat on the steps leading up to the dining level with his own dinner in hand. Finally, it was time to let his apprentice know what had transpired in his absence.

"To answer your question, Dave, the horse has been given a good home. There are a couple of places in the city that keep horses for carriage rides and such. After we emptied the saddlebags, I impersonated a mounted officer and rode to the closest stable. I left the beast there. He's happy.

'We've had a full afternoon, as you can see. Tomorrow, we plan to update this kitchen and the bathroom, maybe turn another alcove into a living room."

Dave wasn't sure that was such a great idea. He said so. "Um, Balthazar, you know this lab doesn't belong to me, right? My professor is letting me use it for my project, but he never said I could go changing everything around. I have to leave it the same way I found it."

"Oh, don't worry, Dave. Nothing is permanent. When we leave, all the improvements leave with us. Your professor will never know anyone has been living here."

"Okay, but why would anyone want to live here anyway? It's more like a dungeon than a house."

"I like it." The reply came not from Balthazar, but from the man sitting at the table beside Dave. "Besides," Alvar went on, "it's a good strategic move. The Morganians don't know about me. Even if they've somehow found out I'm here, Horvath is the only one who's had experience dealing with me. I don't remember anything after the fight on the road, of course, but I'm told I was practically invincible for the centuries after that. That's what Horvath will remember. With me staying here, you're not likely to walk into an ambush when you come to visit."

"I suppose..."

Becky drew her own conclusion. "So it's okay if Dave and I leave earlier? Now that Alvar is here, Balthazar won't be going out at night anymore, and Veronica will always have someone to stay with her. We don't have to wait until Monday then, right?"

"Right," Balthazar reluctantly agreed. He still wasn't comfortable with Dave going so far away, beyond the reach of immediate help if it was needed. Becky's involvement was as much a liability to the war as it was an asset, since she couldn't defend herself. Balthazar left his concerns unspoken; with luck, they would prove to be groundless.

"Good," she said with a smile. "I have some things to take care of tomorrow morning, but I should be ready after lunch. How's that, Dave? Is tomorrow afternoon all right?"

He nodded. "Sure. It's a date."


	8. Distress and dark magic

The Morganian team assembled in Chandra's apartment the day after their failed attempt to capture Balthazar. They were not happy.

"So what're we gonna do now?" Drake groused. "I still don't see why I can't go back to my penthouse. My adoring fans are clamoring for me to make my return." He plopped down on one end of the living room couch and rested his high-heeled boots on the opposite arm, effectively blocking any of his companions from sharing his seat. He held up his new sorcerer ring in front of his face so he could admire it yet again.

Chandra shook her head. "You haven't changed, Drake," she commented sourly. "We told you, we need you to focus on the job at hand. You can become Mr. Popular again after it's done."

"I'm gonna be a _king_ when it's done," he told her. "The four of us can split this city into quarters, one for each of us. I'll take Manhattan. You all can fight over the rest."

From a nearby chair, Abigail chimed in, "Actually, Mr. Stone, I'd rather go home to Salem. I'd like to see what the humans have done with my town before I remake it the way I want it. You can keep New York City for yourselves."

"Enough chitchat." Horvath glowered at them from where he stood by the door. "You're all thinking too small. A city here, a city there...what good is that? The world lies at our feet. All we need to do is take it. Only the Merlinians stand in our way."

Drake scowled. "And you won't let us take it until we get rid of them. Okay, so how do we do that? Your plan last night didn't work out so well. You got something better in mind?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. We're still going to do a hostage exchange, but I've decided to use the human again instead of going after Blake. Pity, that. I was so looking forward to having him as my 'guest' for a while. Ah, well, no matter. This way is less risky."

"But Mr. Horvath," protested the young witch, "she's almost never alone now. The Prime Merlinian is keeping a close watch. How are we going to capture her?"

"Not 'we,' Abigail. I plan to capture her myself this time, right out from under the Prime Merlinian's nose. He caught me by surprise once. Now it's time for me to demonstrate a little strategy of my own."

* * *

><p>The rain poured steadily outside Carlyle Court that Saturday afternoon. Gusts of wind blew the precipitation nearly sideways. Dave parked the Phantom as close to the main door as he could, but he knew even that wouldn't be close enough for Becky and him to escape a thorough drenching between the two dry havens. Umbrellas would be nearly useless. A few brave souls still dared to traverse Union Square Park, just across the street from Becky's Residence Hall, but most huddled under what shelter they could find, waiting for the weather to improve.<p>

Dave sighed. Becky would be waiting for him inside to help carry her luggage to the car. He put up the hood on his jacket and prepared to make a dash for the building.

He was soaked, just as he'd expected, by the time he reached the door. Becky was there in the foyer, her bags on the floor by her feet. She wore a bright blue rain poncho.

"Ready to go?" Dave asked rhetorically.

She smiled, a bit anxiously. "Ready as I'll ever be." She picked up a large shoulder bag, leaving the rest for her escort to carry.

"Okay, I'll go first. When I finish putting your things in the trunk, I'll pull up outside the door, and you can run to the car. That way, you won't have to wait for me in the rain." He hoisted the luggage for their journey. With a final deep breath at the threshold, he stepped outside.

Inside the foyer, a uniformed security guard approached the waiting student. She took a moment from watching Dave to glance at the guard, curious. Her face froze. In his hand, the guard bore a blue-tipped cane.

Dave struggled to fit the last piece of baggage into the trunk of his borrowed Rolls. It took some maneuvering, but he managed to squeeze it in beside his own, single suitcase. With a self-satisfied nod, he slammed the Phantom trunk closed, then moved the vehicle to sit just in front of the Residence Hall door. He tapped the horn twice to let her know he was ready. That was when he noticed a pair of bright blue ponchos moving down the street away from him. Another couple was heading in the opposite direction. In fact, now that he looked, he saw blue ponchos everywhere. No Becky came from Carlyle Court in answer to his summons.

The alarm bells went off in his head. He shifted into "Park" and left the car where it was. In an instant, he'd sprinted back to the foyer, only to find the shoulder bag lying untended on the floor. Becky was gone. Frantically, he ran outside to the sea of identical ponchos. He called her name in a vain attempt to get a reaction from one of the anonymous lookalikes. One after another, he grabbed at passing shoulders or stared at passing faces, only to find strangers instead of the one he sought. At last, he gave up the futile effort.

He returned to the car and drove aimlessly while his world spiraled down into an endless black pit of despair.

* * *

><p>"I was right there," he told them again. "I was parked not more than half a block away, but he still got her. I couldn't protect her. I failed." He slumped in his chair and buried his face in his hands. "I'm a miserable excuse for a bodyguard," he mumbled.<p>

His three companions said nothing for a while. Recriminations were unnecessary. Finally, Balthazar pointed out, "We know where she is, Dave, as long as she's wearing the amulet you gave her. The question now is, do we wait to hear from Horvath, or do we make a rescue attempt right away?"

Alvar had a suggestion. "I was a scout once, back in my previous life. Why don't I see how close I can get and then report back? We can decide then, if there hasn't been a message from the Morganians."

Balthazar thought about it. "Do you think you can do that without being recognized?" he asked. "We don't want the enemy to know about you if he doesn't already. Although..." He grimaced. "Horvath may very well interrogate his hostage, so he's sure to find out soon enough. Maybe it's better to just strike first."

"What's the safest thing for Becky?" was Dave's primary concern.

His master replied, "She's safe for now, Dave. Horvath isn't going to damage his only bargaining chip. He needs her to exchange for what he really wants."

"Veronica."

"Yes."

The woman in question had her own ideas. "Maybe we should allow him to go through with this exchange. In time, I may be able to convince him to give up this fantasy he has. If he truly does love me, he'll let me go. Even if it isn't love anymore, he may still release me for the sake of the friendship we once had. Either way, I know he won't hurt me."

"I don't like it," Balthazar countered. "We don't know his intentions toward you, but we can be pretty certain they're not honorable."

"I can deal with Horvath," she assured him. "I'm a warrior, too, remember."

"Yes, you are." He forced a smile. "All right, then. Master, your suggestion is a good one. I'd like a scout report as soon as possible, please. You know what to do."

* * *

><p>A trio of sorcerers waded single-file down the middle of an old stone storm drain many feet below the surface of New York City. Because of the heavy rain that day, the water was running high, well above the travelers' knees. Twin fireballs lit their way ahead, while a flashlight's beam from the back scanned the surface of the water all around them. The tunnel was filled with the sound of rushing water, eerie and amplified in these man-made caverns that nonetheless seemed to take them through passages not of this world.<p>

In the rear, Dave said what they all were feeling. "This place gives me the creeps." His voice wasn't loud, but the words might have been spoken into a microphone. Balthazar, at the head of their procession, stopped and turned halfway round. He put a finger to his lips in a mute gesture for silence. Dave nodded in agreement. They continued their slog.

Eventually, the corridor ended at another, lower one running at an angle to their current one. The three had to jump down over the deceptively short cascade at the intersection, a move which cost their leader both his balance and any hope he'd had of staying even partially dry. He fought his way back to his feet, then helped the others down with steady hands. They followed the flow downstream until they reached an archway to their right. Here they had to take extra care again, for the floor beyond the arch sloped upward enough to make walking treacherous against the current. They linked hands to form a human chain.

The upper level, thankfully, marked the end of their journey. Balthazar and his companions emerged from the arched tunnel into a round cavern larger than Dave's laboratory. They made their way up to a wide stone sidewalk that jutted from the cavern wall all the way around. The water formed a lake in the middle, pouring out through arched channels cut into the perimeter like that from which they'd just climbed, and fed on the far side by a waterfall from an opening still higher. Besides Dave's flashlight, the only light came from balls of sorcerer fire hovering at intervals, reflecting in the dark water and giving the room a warm, timeless glow. Pillars of stone rose in a circle from the lake, their tops lost in the gloom of the cavern's ceiling. And standing on a small plateau just above the water's surface, directly ahead in the center of the lake, stood the object of the rescuers' search.

"Becky!" Dave started forward, but his master grabbed his arm and held him back. Balthazar pointed at the water, and his apprentice gaped. Blue flashes streaked in a deadly net where Dave had been about to leap in.

"Dave?" Becky sounded like she'd been crying. Her hands were tied behind her, and she'd been standing in what, to her, had been total darkness for she had no idea how long. Her eyes searched for a face behind the blinding flashlight beam. "Dave, help me," she pleaded.

"Hang on, Becky," he answered. "We're going to get you out of here."

A familiar voice came from the opposite side of the cavern. "How touching." Horvath stood beside the waterfall, a sinister smile on his face and his cane held just inches from the cascade. "And how do you intend to do that, Dave? You know water and electricity don't mix." He thrust the glowing blue gems into the waterfall. Instantly, the lake was filled again with the deadly flashing net. "One little nudge, and she falls off her island before you can do anything about it."

The Merlinians exchanged glances. It was time.

"Horvath," the smallest one called. "Don't do this."

The enemy's expression softened. "Veronica. It really is you this time." He withdrew the cane and let the jewels' glow fade away.

"Yes, Horvath." She stepped in front of her comrades. "Please, let her go. Come back to us. We don't have to fight anymore." She spread her hands in invitation. "You're still our brother, Horvath."

Unfortunately, that was _not_ what Horvath wanted to hear. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw grew rigid as steel. "No," he snapped. "You're mine, and now I've come to claim you." He jerked his chin toward the girl who stood trembling on her tiny plateau. "You for her."

Veronica shook her head sadly. She hadn't held out much hope that her former teammate would rejoin them so readily, but the effort had still been worth a try. Well, they would just have to work a little longer to bring him around. She was confident that it would happen, though. She hoped. With a last mournful look back at the man she loved, she took one resolute step forward.

"Your ring first."

Horvath's demand caught the rescue party by surprise. Never, in all the years since he and Balthazar had become rivals, had either deprived the other of his powers. It was a sign of the respect they still had for each other, or perhaps an honorary token of the friendship they'd once shared. Horvath would have said such robbery wasn't sporting. Apparently, though, robbing Merlin's third apprentice of her powers was acceptable. Veronica hesitated, suddenly anxious.

"Now!" Horvath was losing patience.

She swallowed, then slowly, reluctantly, drew her sorcerer ring from her right hand. She held it in her upturned palm until it flew across the lake to the man on the other side. He smiled and tucked it away under his mantle. "All right," he instructed. "Walk smooth and steady until you reach me. You two..." he glared at Dave and Balthazar, "stay put. No tricks, or the girl fries."

To reinforce the command, three figures emerged from the shadows near the waterfall. Horvath's fellow Morganians flanked him, close enough for support but leaving enough space for each to maneuver.

Veronica walked with the dignity of a queen going to her execution. Both Horvath and Balthazar watched her, and both felt the same longing to have her as his own. Horvath reached out as she neared, pulling her by one arm close to his left side. "I've fulfilled my part of the trade," she reminded him. "Now you fulfill yours."

"Certainly," he agreed. He raised his voice a little so that the men waiting on the other side of the cavern could hear. "You wanted the girl, Dave. Since I won't be needing her anymore, she's yours now. Feel free to take her. Here, I'll even give her a nudge in your direction." With a casual wave of his cane, he sent a blast of air at Becky. It knocked her off her platform. She fell with a scream into the dark water below.

"Becky!" yelled Dave in a panic. With her hands tied behind her, she was in real danger of drowning. He dropped his flashlight and dove in to save her.

Horvath smirked. He held his captive tighter and retreated with her toward one of the passageways. "Now we finish them," he told those under his command.

Three Morganians smiled in response, the battle gleam bright in their eyes. Drake began with a pair of shots, one at each Merlinian. Dave was still searching underwater for Becky, so he didn't see the blue both streaking toward him. Balthazar did, however. He deftly deflected the pair and sent a streak of fire in return.

Abigail had her own tactic. She opened her mouth wide. From a face that seemed innocent as that of an angel, winged creatures of a different sort spewed forth. A swarm of wasps filled the chamber, black against the surrounding darkness.

Balthazar had had experience with the young witch's methods. As the cloud descended, he threw up an invisible shield crackling with energy. Tiny flashes of fire blossomed and died as each insect hit the shield in an effort to get to the sorcerer huddled behind it. Agatha winced at every flare, for her spirit animated the tiny creatures, and she felt their pain as each one was exterminated.

Occupied as he was, Balthazar almost didn't notice Chandra. She was standing with her arms stretched out toward him, breathing deeply with her eyes closed in concentration. With each exhalation, her target felt the air around him thicken with poisonous vapors. No shield could hold them back. This was dark magic, and it would kill him unless he stopped the sorcerer who cast it.

Drake sent another bolt at Balthazar, taking advantage of the distraction. It slammed against the shield and knocked it from the defender's weakened grasp. The few remaining wasps alit and began to sting, but not for long. The poison in the air made short work of them. At the far end of the lake, Agatha panted for the clean air denied to her minions. She wouldn't be ready to attack again for a while.

The insects' downfall would also make short work of Balthazar if he didn't do something about it. He sent a blue bolt at Chandra, but to his shock, it fizzled and died as it drew near her. He fell forward just as Dave's head popped up above the lake's surface. The young apprentice held Becky's limp body upright against his. He began to wade through the chest-deep water back to where his master lay.

Gasping now for air, Balthazar raised his head enough to see Drake readying yet another plasma bolt. The Morganian lifted it high to hurl it downward, into the lake, like a massive bolt of lightning. "Dave!" he cried in warning. "Behind you!"

The Prime Merlinian couldn't move fast enough to stop the strike. He could, however, keep himself from being electrocuted. With one arm, he flung the water away, so that he and Becky stood in a dry circle with roiling liquid walls. The electric charge dissipated as quickly as it had come. Dave let the circle collapse while he struck back at Drake, knocking his attacker back into one of the arched channels that carried the storm water away.

Meanwhile, Balthazar had dragged himself to the edge of the sidewalk. Dave hurried to him as well as he could, burdened as he was by Becky's dead weight. He reached the sidewalk, where one whiff of acrid air told him what had laid his master low.

"Steam," Balthazar managed to tell him. "Get out of the water." He already had a hand over the edge, preparing to set the lake aboil.

It wasn't as easy as it sounded, but Dave at last was able to pull both himself and Becky up, out of the lake. By this time, Balthazar was unconscious. Fear for him, and for Becky, drove out every other thought. "Steam," Dave reminded himself. He knew what he had to do.

He spread his hands over the cavern lake, and the water began to bubble. The air above it shimmered with the rising vapor, which formed a mass of clouds as it met the cooler air of the surrounding space. Soon, nothing was visible through the fog but vague points of light where the fireballs hovered in place.

Dave heard a choking sound far away. A woman's voice called out uncertainly, "Drake? Where are you? Horvath? Abigail? Somebody?" There was the noise of shuffling feet, then a little scream. "Aagh, my hand! The water burned my hand!"

Good, Dave commented silently. You deserve it, you...witch. He smiled briefly, then knelt beside the bodies of his friends, his worries for them renewed. Neither was breathing, and there was no one he could turn to for help. He'd never felt more alone.


	9. Breaking point

Horvath retreated from the chamber while his compatriots sprang into battle. He pulled his trophy with him up a dark staircase hidden in the shadows behind the waterfall. This was the most direct route to the surface, and he intended to get away as quickly as possible, before his enemies could follow. Although he hadn't told them as much, he didn't expect his fellow Morganians to triumph; they were merely distractions–expendable ones, at that.

He and Veronica were still climbing when above them on the steps appeared a light. It wasn't the light of the exit, though. Instead, it was a single point of glowing red. As the pair neared, they could make out a man-shaped silhouette behind the light. The red glow moved upward and stopped just below the man's face. From that face, a pair of gleaming eyes shone forth that matched the color of his ring. He gave a menacing growl.

Horvath blanched. He'd seen this creature before, felt its iron hands around his throat, and knew that his own magic was useless against it. "Alvar," he whispered. Back down the stairs he flew with his captive, while the older master pursued. They emerged into a fog-filled room lit only intermittently with the fireballs they'd created earlier, the air as moist and hot as that of a sauna. Behind the fleeing pair, the red glow followed.

Much as he wanted to run, Horvath didn't dare until he could see where he was going. Instead, he walked briskly, one hand still grasping Veronica's arm, the other stretched out with his cane to brush against the curved stone walls of the cavern. A small figure ahead of them waited until they were close enough to see each other.

"Mr. Horvath," said Abigail. "Where have you been?" She was more than a little suspicious of him, it was clear. "You weren't thinking of deserting us, were you?"

He didn't have time for this. A quick glance back showed the red glow gaining on them. With no further ado, he swept the cane in an arc, sending a concussion blast against his accuser. She tumbled off the sidewalk into the steaming lake. He ignored her shrieks, and they died along with her. Almost instinctively, Veronica shrank back against him, away from the sounds of death. He let go of her arm, instead wrapping his around her in a protective embrace. For the moment, they were old friends again. They moved on together. Unnoticed, the witch's pendant on its chain loosed itself from Horvath's staff and fell to the cavern floor bereft of all its power.

They found Chandra next, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, cradling her wounded hand. She looked up at them. "Who was she?" the woman asked. She'd heard the screams, but didn't know who made them.

"Abigail," replied the culprit. "She tripped and fell in the lake. Fortunes of war." He shrugged. "Where are the others?"

"I don't know." She suspected Horvath of lying about Abigail, but she knew better than to challenge him. She wasn't as naive as the young witch had been. "I thought you were standing guard. I was in the middle of sending Blake the Black Breath, just as you ordered, and the next thing I knew, I was choking on all this fog. I scalded my hand when I tried to touch the water."

Veronica inhaled sharply at the news. "Balthazar," she murmured.

Chandra nodded. "He's probably dead by now."

* * *

><p>Behind them, Alvar heard the conversation. He halted abruptly. Veronica wasn't the only one who was alarmed by the Morganian woman's confession. His bluff against Horvath had worked beautifully, but now he had another priority. He turned around and hurried in the opposite direction around the lake. He needed to reach Balthazar. Rescuing Veronica could wait.<p>

He found his former apprentice within a minute or two. Dave was there with him and Becky, frantically alternating his revival attempts between the two of them. "Calm down," Alvar told him. "You'll end up passing out if you keep this up." Dave paused for a moment to stare at the new arrival. He was near panic, but the older man's presence seemed to help. Alvar bent down beside Balthazar's still body. "I'll work on him," he instructed Dave. "Remember, I'm a physician by trade. You concentrate on Becky."

"Thanks." Dave's relief was palpable.

There was a reason that Balthazar had requested steam. On his knees by his patient's side, Alvar cupped his hands and lifted them high. The air above thickened as the water vapor gathered into a funnel cloud. Alvar's hands parted then, allowing the cloud to descend on the body below. He placed his hands on either side of the face obscured under the fog. Eyes closed, his ring aglow, he breathed steadily for himself and for the one under his care, until the steam had been drawn inside both. When it was clear, he continued the job Dave had started, transferring the enriched air inside his lungs to those of Balthazar.

One more step remained. The physician rested his hands on the patient's chest. He was cooling that enriched air, turning the vapor inside back to water. It couldn't stay inside. Alvar pressed quickly and firmly on the other's abdomen, driving the liquid up and out. Balthazar's body jerked, and Alvar turned him onto his left side so that he could spew the poison out. Finally, Balthazar breathed on his own.

Now it was Becky's turn. Hers was a simple drowning case–no magic involved–so the remedy was equally standard. Alvar took over from Dave until she, too, was out of danger–well, from that particular danger, anyway. Dave helped her to sit up, and she clung to him, shaking. The beam from his flashlight, on the floor where he'd dropped it, provided precious little light for her to see anything at all.

Things weren't much better for the sorcerers. Chill water poured into the lake from the cascade on the far side, rapidly cooling it now that Dave's work was done, even as the air grew warmer. The fog thinned. Soon, the opposing teams could make out the vague forms of their enemies across the cavern.

Horvath had the advantage, and he knew it. Now that he'd had time to think about it, he realized the trick for which he'd fallen. Dave didn't know how to counter dark magic, but the former Morganian Alvar did. Only he could have saved Balthazar, who was even now being pulled to his feet with his master's assistance. The creature that had so frightened Horvath was virtually invulnerable, but it couldn't do magic, either. Alvar must have been restored to the status of a normal sorcerer.

"So, Balthazar," he said quietly, as if to himself. "You're still up to your little tricks, I see." Dave was temporarily out of the fight, as he and Becky were seated together on the walkway, holding each other tightly while he tried to comfort her without much success. The older two were handicapped by Veronica and their desire to keep her from harm. Horvath smiled. "You can keep your tricks," he told his rival, though he knew the other couldn't hear him. "I have my prize. I also still have Merlin's ring."

He pointed his cane across the water, toward those who he wished to destroy. The gems, and the two additional rings on the shaft, lit together to hurl a mighty bolt. It streaked...upward.

He'd forgotten about Veronica. Even without her powers, she wasn't quite helpless. As her captor readied his shot, she moved suddenly, slamming her body against his. She grabbed the cane and diverted its energy away from the intended targets.

The bolt hit the chamber ceiling high above them. Dirt and chunks of stone rained down into the water, followed by a deep groan that echoed through the room. It spread. More debris fell from the shadows above, just a little at first but growing perceptibly in size and scope as they watched. The groan became louder.

Alvar was the first of his group to name the new threat. "Cave-in!" he cried. "We need to get out of here, now!"

Dave struggled to his feet, which wasn't easy since Becky refused to let go. He was nearly at his emotional limit, himself. He held her close to him and looked to his elders for guidance. Overhead, he heard a crumbling noise. He stepped back just as a hail of stones and dust poured onto the spot where he and Becky had been standing only a moment before. He closed his eyes to clear them of the stinging dust; and in that moment, he knew they were going to die.

* * *

><p>Balthazar's first thought was not of escape, but of rescue. He didn't dare fire back at Horvath, for fear of hitting Veronica, which meant that he had to get closer. "Get them out," he told his master, nodding to indicate the young couple nearby. He started toward the enemy across the room.<p>

Breathing was painful, and moving more so. He hadn't gone far when a disturbance blossomed in the air of an archway between the two Morganians. It was a rippling that grew and devoured the light of the nearest fireball, and sent the already choppy water at its base into a churning mass.

Chandra saw it and screeched. She scrambled away in a panic, leaving Horvath the closer of them to the disturbance. She tumbled into the first passageway she found, just in time.

The ripple opened up with a roar. Blinding white light filled the chamber, so that the occupants had to shield their eyes to see anything at all. At the center of the light, a black field laced with shooting stars lay beyond a round but indistinct doorway, a field that pulled in everything near it. The air quickly cleared as the remaining mist streaked toward it with no resistance. Horvath and his prisoner fought the pull, but it was a losing battle. Veronica broke free of him, briefly, until the floor beneath them broke away. They both fell into the still-warm water. Horvath grabbed her again by one flailing arm. Through the doorway the black field swept them as they struggled against a current that had the force of a tidal wave. They disappeared as they crossed the threshold.

Balthazar watched in horror. At this distance, the pull wasn't as strong, but it was still significant, like a mighty wind at his back. The doorway's edges began to collapse. "No!" he shouted, to no avail. He'd waited too long, been through too much to lose Veronica again. Desperately, he cast the only spell that might do any good: the speed bump.

The doorway shuddered. The silver glob that enveloped it slowed the collapse from instant to fast–still too fast for Balthazar to reach it in time. He threw himself into the water, swimming with the current to increase his speed. With a last, violent convulsion, the stars skewed in random directions, the field quivered, and the indistinct doorway snapped shut behind its third and final entrant. The light disappeared along with it.

* * *

><p>Alvar was in charge now. He had to wait until his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness; then he stood staring for a moment at the empty place where his friend and apprentice had vanished. The emptiness there was an echo of that which was left in his heart.<p>

Behind him, he heard Balthazar's own apprentice call out his master's name. He shook himself; there was no time for grief right now. He had a job to do. He forced his eyes away from the dying ripple in the air, back to the couple he'd been charged to look after.

None of them noticed the three ghostly images that hovered above the roiling waters until the ripple faded from view. The specters flew then, together, upward through the falling debris and then the ceiling, themselves fading as they rose. They were gone within a few seconds.

"Come on," Alvar commanded. He herded the pair toward the staircase behind the waterfall, dodging the rain of rocks and the obstacles already in their path. They reached the opening, only to find it blocked behind an insurmountable pile of rubble. They had to find another way out.

The ring of pillars that rose from the lake was beginning to show signs of stress. It was only a matter of time before one of them collapsed, which would be the catalyst for the rest of them to fall as well. That time was imminent.

Since the path to the surface was closed to them, Alvar chose an alternate route. "We'll go downstream. The water has to empty out somewhere." They moved toward the nearest archway.

Just inside, her back pressed up against the wall and her eyes closed tightly in lingering terror, sat the Morganian sorcerer Chandra. Most of the water was gone now, either through the doorway or drained away down the channel, so that it was no deeper here than it would be in a bathtub. Alvar stooped beside her and clapped a hand on her shoulder. "It's gone," he said. "We need to leave here before we're buried alive. Even an enemy doesn't deserve that. Come on, let's go."

She didn't respond, but in the main chamber, what they had feared began. One of the pillars began to tremble; then, as if in slow motion, it broke into pieces from the top down. The roof which it had been supporting collapsed with a great rumbling sound like that of an implosion. It snuffed out the remaining fireballs as it fell, and sent the remaining water of the lake rushing out into the surrounding channels.

Alvar hauled the woman up. Her eyes flew open. Still panicked, she attempted a spell against her would-be rescuer. He grabbed her hands before she could finish, then roughly pulled the sorcerer ring from her finger. This was an emergency; it was no time to be a gentleman.

The roof collapse was expanding. Alvar thrust the Morganian ahead of him toward Dave. "Take her," he ordered. "I need both hands to keep the ceiling from falling in on us. Lead the way. Hurry!" He sent a fireball ahead of the younger man, since Dave had his hands full with the two women.

They made their way down the channel, then through the tunnel at the bottom, and another and another, always following the flow of the water downstream. Alvar brought up the rear. The collapse was spent by now, and the tunnels safe for travel, but only forward, ever forward. There was no way back.

They stumbled at last into open air. This was one of the storm drain's exits, spilling out into the Harlem River. They waded into the waist-high water.

Dave guided the ladies to the nearby shore, and all three sank gratefully onto dry ground. It was nighttime, and there were no lights but that of their fiery guide, but the moonlit sky was more than enough compensation. They had made it out, alive and unhurt...

At least physically. They were, all of them, in a state of shock. Their escape had come at a price; one that, for each, might prove beyond his ability to pay. Chandra owed her life to the enemy, who now had her in his power. What would he require of her? Becky had nearly died, thanks to her involvement with a sorcerer–again. How much more could she take? Judging by the daze beyond fear to which she'd been driven, perhaps none.

As for Dave, he was in somewhat of a daze himself. The nightmare inside was over, but he would never forget. Nor was there hope of waking from it come morning. He would be returning to an empty home, working in a lab bereft of his master, living without the one who'd come to mean so much to him in such a short span of time. He stared up at the sky. A lone star streaked across the heavens, and his eyes followed it down beyond the horizon. Then it was gone, gone like Balthazar into an unknown world.

Alvar mourned as well. He stood alone, the one person who was still able to think clearly despite his enormous loss. He was used to sorrow, and to loneliness, but that didn't make it easier to accept what had happened. Where Merlin's three elite apprentices had gone, he had no idea. Were they even still alive? Even if they were, they wouldn't be coming back, at least not here. The cave-in had seen to that. No, they were gone, all of them–vanished as if they had never been. Alvar's long journey to reunite with the one he loved as his own son, a journey that spanned two continents and over a thousand years, had ended in success for two days that had proved to be all too short. The days yet to come: what would they bring? Alvar felt the weight of responsibility upon his shoulders, a weight he'd hoped he would never feel again. Well, that could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he let himself mourn.


	10. Becky's choice

By unspoken consent, the sodden quartet made its way back to Dave's lab. They walked straight from the river shore, without stopping to pick up the X5 parked near one of the other drain entrances. It was nearly morning, after a long walk devoid of conversation, when they finally reached their destination.

Dave led the group down to the main floor. They were all exhausted, chilled to the bone from the mid-March air against their wet clothes, and numb from the night's calamity. Dave and the women settled onto the kitchen chairs while Alvar retrieved a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. The master held one hand over the pitcher, concentrating, then set it down on the table. He poured the liquid into four plastic cups and passed them around. "Something to warm us up," he explained.

Dave took a whiff of his drink and crinkled his nose. "It's not iced tea anymore."

"No. Drink it. It will make you feel better."

Dave wasn't about to argue. He obeyed, and so did his companions. Almost immediately, a warm rush filled his head and chest. It felt good, almost good enough to make him forget the tonic's bite as it went down. He held out his empty cup for a refill, and Alvar complied with a smile.

By the time the pitcher was drained, the four had ceased to feel any chill. Numbness had ebbed away into a comfortable drowsiness that was beginning to press its way relentlessly into their minds.

Chandra spoke for the first time since her capture. "What do you want from me?" she prodded.

Alvar responded, "Right now, just to keep you out of trouble."

"You can't keep me here indefinitely."

"Maybe not, but for now, you're our prisoner. We'll figure out what to do with you later."

"So what do we do now?" Dave asked wearily.

"Now we all try to get some sleep," the older sorcerer replied. "I have my bed here, and your cot is still over in the other alcove. Our guest can use that until we come up with something better." He noted Becky's unbroken silence. "Maybe you'd better take your girlfriend home, Dave. Then you can go to your own place from there."

"Yeah." Dave agreed without enthusiasm. He made no move to rise.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, it's just...I'd really rather not go back. Not alone, not yet. There's nobody else there." He didn't have to elaborate.

Alvar understood. He just nodded. "All right. Will you be staying here, then?"

"If that's all right with you."

"It's your lab, Dave. I'm the temporary lodger here. Go on, take your lady home. Better hurry, before you get too tired to drive."

* * *

><p>The outside air revived the college couple somewhat. Dave opened the Phantom's door for his passenger, who gave him a wan smile of thanks.<p>

Traffic was relatively light this early Sunday morning, despite the overnight time change making it one hour later than it would have been otherwise. Becky said nothing during the drive back to Carlyle Court, and Dave began to seriously worry about her. He parked near the Residence Hall door. "Becky," he began, "are you all right?"

Obviously, she wasn't. She let him know that with a simple shake of her head. The tonic at the lab had helped, but it couldn't erase the memory of the terror just past. She turned her eyes to his, and he saw in them a change that frightened him. "No," she said at last, in a voice so small that he had to strain to hear. "I'm not."

He pulled her close then, as close as was possible in the confines of the vehicle. After an uncertain time of silence, during which he felt the pain of his own inability to give her comfort, he asked the question that needed to be answered, despite his own looming dread. "Are we still going away together? Our things are still in the trunk. We could go right now if you want to."

She murmured into his chest, "No, Dave."

He swallowed, hard. He'd been afraid of that. He pretended to take it in stride, keeping his arms folded around her as she leaned against him. "What would you like to do, then? I'll do anything you want. Anything." He was getting a little desperate, and he wasn't very good at hiding it.

Becky sat back. She'd made a decision, he could tell. "I'm sorry, Dave," she said as kindly as she could. "I want to go home, to my parents' house in Millville."

"Alone?"

She nodded. "Yes. I need to get away from here, from magic..."

"From me." It wasn't a question.

"I'm sorry," she told him again.

"For how long?"

"I don't know. At least for this week. I don't feel safe here anymore." Her rescuer turned his head away, in evident distress, and she hastened to reassure him. "It's not your fault, Dave, not really. I know you care about me. You've done everything you can to protect me, and I really appreciate it. In my head, I know the danger is over, now that Horvath is gone. But...my heart's not getting the message."

The sorcerer put it in his own words. "Your heart associates me with danger. I can understand that." Not for the first time, he cursed the day when he'd been led to that curious shop in Tribeca, the one known as the Arcana Cabana. The curse wasn't rational, but he wasn't feeling very rational right now anyway.

"Would you mind taking me to the bus terminal?" she requested. "I have to pick up my shoulder bag first–security probably has it now–but I'll be right back."

"You're taking a bus? You don't have to. I can drive. It's only a few hours away." It was the best offer he could come up with, given the circumstances.

She refused his offer. "You're going to fall asleep behind the wheel, Dave. Besides, you shouldn't be leaving Alvar alone all that time. He'll need your help with that woman."

Becky's cell phone was in the shoulder bag she'd been carrying. On the way to the bus station, she called her parents and asked them to pick her up when she arrived at Millville. She didn't tell them why she was coming to visit, only that she missed them and her home.

The luggage in the Phantom's trunk was transferred to a compartment on the side of the bus. Becky took off her poncho there and stuffed it into one of her bags before it joined the rest. "I don't think I'll need this anymore," she said with forced lightness.

Dave stared. "You're still wearing the amulet," he marveled.

"Oh! I forgot." She reached a hand up to the ornament and began to take it off. "This is yours. I don't know when I'll see you again, so I'd better leave it with you."

"No, please." He laid his hand over hers. "Keep it. I have another one just like it. See?" He unzipped his jacket to show her. "They're a matched set. They kind of go together. Please, keep it...as a reminder." He felt awkward again, not sure what else to say. The last thing she wanted was a reminder, he feared. He was about to lose the one girl he'd ever wanted, and he didn't even know how to say good-bye.

To his surprise, she knew what he wanted to say, even if he didn't. She gave him a warm, genuine smile. "I'll keep the necklace, Dave. I want to forget the danger, but I don't want to forget you. Thank you for everything you've done." Suddenly, she was in his arms, holding him in a strong, if brief, embrace that he returned with all the force that was in him. She kissed him on the cheek, and told him confidently, "I'll come back. I don't know when, but I will be back, I promise."

The bus was ready to go. She shared a final kiss with her man before breaking away to climb on board the vehicle. "Good-bye, Dave," she said.

He lifted a hand to wave in response. They were both tired, and maybe they hadn't had time to dry off completely from their underground excursion. Maybe that was why his vision blurred behind a veil of water as she disappeared from view. He didn't know, and he didn't care. Becky was gone, out of his life like Veronica... and Balthazar.

* * *

><p>The drive back was done almost on autopilot at first. Dave steered the Rolls absently, not even thinking about where he was going. Somehow, it was soothing merely to drive, as if today was just another morning, a Sunday like any other. If not for that day less than two weeks ago, that Monday that had changed his life, it would have been–well, except for the fact that he was driving now, in a classic luxury car that belonged to his missing master; that, and the hubbub of police and Fed activity brought on by the calamity of the night before. He yawned; the drowsiness was edging in again. He took the shortest route back to the lab.<p>

Walking into the darkened turnaround from the morning sunshine outside, Dave stopped for a minute to let his eyes adjust. He didn't want to turn on the lights for fear of waking the two older occupants, who were doubtless asleep by now. Instead, he conjured a small plasma ball and let it lead him downstairs. By its glow, he could make out the disk-shaped grounded grid at the center of a blockade in front of the alcove behind which his cot must still be. Without her sorcerer ring, Chandra was trapped back there until one of her captors let her out.

Dave crept closer to the modified alcove across the room. The steel door was open. He didn't want to disturb Alvar, but he'd just realized that he had no place to sleep here. He stood still, at a temporary loss.

A quiet voice came from behind the open door. "Welcome back, Dave."

Oops. "Hi," he answered, just as softly. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you." Apparently, Balthazar wasn't the only one who slept with one ear open.

"It's all right. Come on in."

Dave entered the room and sat down on the chair by the desk. He set the plasma ball hovering in the middle of the stone ceiling.

Alvar lay on his side facing his guest. He was propped up on one elbow with his head resting on the pillow wedged in at the shoulder. He flashed a tired grin. "You took your time coming back, I see. I thought you'd changed your mind and gone home after all, or else you'd decided to stay at your girlfriend's place."

"No. Becky..." He couldn't go on. "I...I don't want to talk about it right now."

Alvar studied him for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened and coming to his own conclusion. "All right," he said. "We can worry about that later. Right now, you need some sleep. There's an extra pillow and blankets in my foot locker, there at the end of the bed. Why don't you dig out what you need? I'm afraid the floor in here is just as hard as it is in the big room, but you're welcome to use it anyway. We'll change things around tomorrow, make it more comfortable, when we've all had some rest."

Dave nodded. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

He spread a few covers on the floor near the bookcase and lay down. After shifting for a bit, trying to find a reasonably comfortable position, he settled for lying on his stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow to lift his head from the floor. With a flick of his finger, he extinguished the light above them.

In the ensuing darkness, Alvar spoke again. "They're alive, I think, or at least Balthazar is."

A surge of hope, almost painful in its intensity, washed through the younger man's mind. He was afraid to trust that hope, but he held onto it nonetheless. "What makes you think so?" Please, let it be more than just wishful thinking, he tacitly pleaded.

"It's my ring. That's how I found Balthazar after he brought me back to myself. When we met again in that other realm beyond death, our spirits touched. Somehow, there's a connection between us now. My ring tells me where he is, just as your amulet tells Balthazar where you are. I don't think it would do that if he weren't alive. I can't be certain about the others, but it's likely that if he's all right, then they are, too. We have no reason to think otherwise."

"So where is he now?" Dave hoped he didn't sound as despondent as he felt.

"That's the thing," Alvar admitted. "The connection is still there, but there's no directional urge. He's lost to us right now. All we can do is wait until we get a signal."

"And we don't know when, or if, that will ever happen."

"He's alive. If there's a way for him to contact us, he'll find it. Don't give up, Dave. I'm not."

"I hope you're right, Alvar. I really hope you're right."

* * *

><p>He woke, disoriented, some time later, to the sound of a woman demanding to be released. Alvar was already on his way to the blocked alcove, pulling a robe on over his bare chest and muttering something about women and their constant needs and complaints. Dave smiled; some things in life never changed.<p>

Alvar waved an arm, and the obstacles moved aside. Chandra glared at him from inside the alcove. "Well, it's about time," she scolded. "I've been yelling for the last ten minutes. I need to use the ladies' room." She bustled out past him, up the three steps to the locker room and the women's bathroom beyond it. Alvar muttered some more and headed toward the kitchen to start breakfast.

Dave climbed the steps after their prisoner, on his way to the men's room. He was in a better mood today–a long way from happy, but better than yesterday. The tonic-aided sleep had helped quite a bit. His world hadn't ended, after all; it was just on hiatus.

"It looks like the inmate has decided to run the asylum," he remarked when he came back to join his new friend in the kitchen. Alvar was peeling potatoes; or rather, they were spinning in midair while the peeler scraped off their skins. Thin steaks were already browning in a pan set on a portable stovetop. Dave noted them absently; he hadn't been awake long enough to be hungry. Instead, he wanted to discuss the Morganian. "She sure doesn't seem to be afraid of us anymore. Oh, and just to let you know, I heard the shower running in there. She might be a while."

"Good," Alvar replied sourly. "Maybe we'll get a few minutes of peace. As for her pushiness, it's not real. She's putting on an aggressive act, but she knows we have all the power. She's not leaving this lab until we say so." He shrugged. "I'll let her keep her mask. It's better than having her start the crying game. Women always try to manipulate us with their emotions, but I'm not going to fall for it."

"Wow, that's kinda cynical."

"I've had enough experience to know. In my day, Morgana would never have allowed women in her ranks. Her followers must have become desperate for recruits since then." He directed a sharp knife to cut the potatoes into wedges, then dumped them into a pot of water. The water began to boil.

Dave was sharply reminded of the underground lake which he himself had set to boil only the day before. He stared at the bubbling water and the steam rising from it.

"What is it?" asked the cook. "Is something wrong?"

"Yesterday," Dave replied thoughtfully. "Tell me about steam. What happened?"

Alvar sighed. "Balthazar was poisoned by a dark magic spell called the Black Breath. It destroys the lining of your lungs, so they fill up with fluid and you can't breathe. It's a nasty way to die, but at least it doesn't give you much time to suffer.

'However, it's a risky business, dark magic; generally, it leaves the caster vulnerable during or after the spell. That's why sorcerers, even if they know a particular spell, don't like to use it unless they have allies to protect them. If Horvath had been guarding our Morganian guest like he was supposed to, we couldn't have stopped her.

'As it was, there was nobody to keep the air around her clear. Steam–concentrated water vapor of any sort–combines with the toxic air and stops it from spreading. Miss Kolinsky was trying to exhale poison and direct it toward its intended target, but it ran into a blockade instead. She had to stop, or she would have been caught in a bubble of her own breath."

"So that's why you had Balthazar inhale that cloud," Dave surmised. "To stop the poison."

"Yes. Of course, the mixture had to be flushed out of his lungs, and the quickest way to do that was to convert it to liquid, before it could do any more damage. Water is easier to expel than air. The lungs will heal in time, as long as too much tissue hasn't been destroyed."

"Oh. Right." Prime Merlinian or not, Dave was still lacking in the most important area of sorcery: a comprehensive knowledge of the art–in all its manifestations. He missed his teacher.

He didn't have long to mope. The locker room door opened a crack, and a towel-clad Chandra hollered from within, "Could I get something clean to wear, please? At least some clean underwear? Everything I own is back in my apartment."

The men looked at each other, at a sudden loss. Alvar yelled back at their unwilling guest, "You should have thought of that before! You could have worn your clothes in the shower and gotten everything clean at once!"

That earned him a diatribe worthy of an ex-wife. In the end, Alvar let her borrow his robe and slippers while Dave gathered her clothes, as well as his own and Alvar's from the day before, in preparation for a trip to the nearest laundromat. He planned to leave right after breakfast. He was thankful that he'd packed everything he needed in his suitcase, the one he'd retrieved from the Phantom's trunk before being tasked with his unexpected errand.

Now Dave was hungry. He brought a carton of orange juice from the fridge while Alvar served them a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs and potatoes. Chandra didn't look threatening at all now, clad as she was in a borrowed robe that made her look even more petite than she actually was. Don't be fooled, Dave told himself. That woman is the enemy. She's proved already that she's capable of murder.

However, without her ring, the enemy's only weapon was her mind. She said little during the meal, preferring to listen to her captors' conversation instead. Her treatment so far had been better than she expected. She wondered how long that would last.

"So," Dave began when his hunger had been sated, "do we have any idea what actually happened yesterday? That..._thing_, that hole in the air...was that more dark magic?"

Alvar shook his head. "If it was, it was something new. I've never seen anything like it." He turned to the Morganian. "Have you?"

She didn't answer.

Her questioner pressed. "I could force an answer, you know."

She gasped as the first icy tendrils of psychic attack brushed against the outskirts of her mind, for she knew she had no defense. She shuddered, and they withdrew.

"You have seen it before, haven't you?" Alvar had made his point. "Tell us. I'd rather not have to go in further."

Chandra glared at him. "You leave me little choice," she snapped. He simply waited, and she at last obeyed.


	11. Chandra's secret

"So there's a chance that Balthazar and the others will come back, too," Dave concluded. "But when, and where? I hope we don't have to wait for twelve years." The questions swirled in his head. He asked them aloud in the hope that the older sorcerers could provide an answer. "If it is dark magic, who could have cast it, and why? If it's not, if it's a natural phenomenon, then it's awfully coincidental that it showed up all three times near Miss Kolinsky. Balthazar never put much stock in coincidence, and I'm starting to agree with him."

Alvar muddied the waters further. "Who's to say that these were the only instances? There may have been other times, in other locations, that we don't know about."

After a moment's consideration, Dave had an idea. "Let's do a Google search. If this has been happening in other times and places, somebody's bound to have recorded it somewhere." He headed toward Alvar's room. "You don't mind if I use your computer, do you?"

Alvar followed, but his prisoner stayed seated at the table. He stopped. "Come on," he ordered. "I don't want you trying to escape while we're not paying attention."

"It's not that," she replied. "I'm just as curious about this thing as you are. The problem is, I don't think you want me near your computer. They don't work for me."

"Oh, we're not asking you to use it. Even I don't know how to do that yet. Dave will have to teach me." He took her arm, and she reluctantly rose.

"Hey, we made the national news!" Dave called from the desk where he was sitting. "They think somebody set off a bomb in the storm drain, probably the same ones who blew a hole in the UBS building. They want to have more hate crime legislation."

Chandra rolled her eyes at such idiocy. She and Alvar made their way over to the alcove.

The monitor was already full of search results when the pair approached. Dave was busily scrolling down, trying to find something that matched what he was looking for. The image froze, flickered, then flashed a brief error message. Dave was left staring at a blank blue screen.

"What?" Frustrated, Dave slammed his palms down on the desk.. "This is a brand-new computer! How can it crash already?"

"I warned you," Chandra said from behind his left shoulder. The men stared at her in amazement. Slowly, Dave asked, "What else gets messed up when you're near?"

She didn't want to tell him, but he obviously already suspected. "Anything electric."

"Anything..." His eyes narrowed. "I'm going to test that," he announced. He led them back to the main floor. Motioning Alvar to halt with the Morganian, he moved on for about twenty feet, then spun and sent a crackling blue ball of energy at the woman.

It sputtered and died before it had a chance to reach her.

He nodded. "Plasma," he explained. "It's a form of controlled electricity. My guess is, you can't create it, either, even with your ring. Am I right?"

She just pouted, which was answer enough. Her secret had been discovered.

* * *

><p>Dave returned from the laundromat, carrying his booty in the same clothes hamper he'd taken it out in. Now the laundry was fresh and folded, with Chandra's clothing on top. She plucked it out without so much as a "thank you" and disappeared into the locker room to change. "You're welcome!" he shouted after her.<p>

He took the hamper into Alvar's room and set it down. "Did you know it's already nighttime?" he informed the other. "We must have slept pretty much the whole day."

"I'm not surprised," Alvar replied. He put his clean clothes away. "So, if we want to get back to a normal schedule, we can either try to sleep some more now or stay awake for a lot longer than we're used to."

"Well, I'm not tired at all."

"Nor am I. I was thinking that we could go to Miss Kolinsky's apartment to pick up some of her things. We don't want you having to make a daily trip to the cleaner's just to keep her happy."

"Yeah." He sat down at the desk and fired up the computer again. This time, it worked just fine. "Something caught my eye last time, before it crashed. A lot of the search results came up 'wormhole.' I wonder..."

By the time Chandra reappeared and stood by the alcove entrance under Alvar's watchful eye, Dave was feeling a building excitement. "Everyone thinks it's only a theory, but it might just be more than that. It could be real!"

The Morganian inquired, "What? What could be real?"

He turned around in his chair. "A wormhole! From your description of what happened to you, and from what we saw for ourselves, we may have discovered the first real evidence that they exist. This is big–really big. It's a physicist's dream if we can prove it." He smiled ecstatically, forgetting for the moment the reason for his search.

Alvar looked utterly lost. "A wormhole? What is that? I assume you're not talking about the tunnels that earthworms dig."

Dave launched into a lengthy technical explanation about traversable wormholes, general relativity, exotic matter, and other terms his elders couldn't follow. He finally noticed the glazed look in their eyes and took pity on them. "Um, they're essentially bridges," he said. "Some connect two points in space, and others two points in time. There's no limit on how far apart those points can be. You can go from one part of the galaxy to another like _that_..." He snapped his fingers. "Or you can go from here to any point at all in the past and back again. They could be naturally occurring or manmade, but since the ones we saw were nowhere near a science lab, I'd have to say they were natural."

"But why were they all close to me?" asked Chandra. "Do I somehow attract them?"

That was a good question, one to which Dave had no immediate answer. He needed more information. "When did you say the first two showed up?"

"Well, the first one was in the Fall of '97. I don't remember the exact date, but I do know on which day I landed in the past. It was my birthday, literally; the very day I was born. I didn't know it at the time, but I remembered when I came back."

"Hmm, Fall of '97..." Dave tried to think back Had there been anything noteworthy going on then? He'd only been seven at the time, so the only thing he could think of had been personal. He shoved that memory to the back of his head. Move on, he told himself. Maybe there's a connection I can come up with if we can tie in the second instance. "Your birthday, huh?" he noted. "I don't know if that's significant, but it is interesting. Okay, so the second time was...?"

"Wednesday night, a week and a half ago."

A cold weight formed in the pit of Dave's stomach. Those two times, and then last night, were the most traumatic in his life, even more so than the incident at the Arcana Cabana. Coincidence? It couldn't be...could it? He tried one more possibility. "Did you...was anything happening when...?"

She shook her head in denial. "No, nothing special, at least those two times."

The weight expanded until it filled its host to his very fingertips. Dave couldn't move even if he wanted to.

"Dave?" Alvar's concern was evident. "Are you all right? Your face has gone pale." He took hold of the apprentice's wrist to check his pulse.

The Prime Merlinian looked the physician in the eye. "Alvar, I don't know how, and I'm not even sure if I'm right, but..."

"But...?"

"I think I'm the reason for the wormholes. I think I'm the one who created them."

* * *

><p>"How is that possible?" Chandra was finding Dave's claim hard to accept. "We were either miles apart or years apart when it happened. Yes, the third time could have been you, but what about the first two? How do you explain them always popping up next to me?"<p>

Dave had to concede he didn't know. "I do have a theory, though. I found out a lot of my capabilities through nothing more than instinct; self-preservation, to be precise. Fear is a powerful emotion. It brought out things in me I didn't know I had. But for those three times, it wasn't just fear. It was fear plus. Besides being scared for myself, I was losing, or had just lost, someone really important to me."

Alvar queried, "So you think these wormholes are manifestations of strong emotions?"

"Of mine, yes. As Prime Merlinian, I have no idea how far that can project. It may be that I'm sending out this whole huge aura of electrical energy, and nobody is even aware of it." He nodded toward the Morganian. "And that's where you come in. You have a strong electrostatic field, an electric charge imbalance, that's apparently permanent. My positive energy meets your negative energy, and Poof! We've got a disruption."

"All right," she allowed, "but what about Wednesday? I was stuck back in the '50s. How could my negative energy have any impact at all?"

"Yeah, that's something I haven't quite figured out yet. There's still a piece of the puzzle missing."

"Well," said Alvar, "why don't you think about it while we go retrieve some of Miss Kolinsky's things? I'd like to get her alcove entrance fitted like mine, too, so we don't have to use assorted lab equipment as a wall."

Chandra had her own suggestion. "You could just let me go. That would be much simpler, don't you think?"

The man beside her rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, that would be much simpler. Then you could go find one of your Morganian friends to help you craft another ring, and then come back to cause us more trouble. I don't think so."

"Who could I find?" she wanted to know. "Horvath is gone, Abigail is dead, and Drake...well, I don't know where he is, if he even got out of the tunnels, but don't count on him to stick around and fight you. He's a coward at heart, that boy. I wouldn't be surprised if we find out he went to Vegas to headline his own magic show."

Dave chimed in, "That's not a very nice thing to say about your own apprentice."

She shrugged. "He's useless to me now unless he is still around, which I doubt. I was training him to help me take out Blake so we could release our leader from the Grimhold. Since Morgana was destroyed, that plan is over. Horvath isn't here to make us follow his plan, either, so we're free to do what we want."

"And what do you want?" asked a curious Alvar.

She pondered. "I'm not sure," she murmured at last. "Maybe be the queen of a little town somewhere, or a city, or whatever. I haven't decided. It was different, living as a human for all those years in the past. I've gotten used to it."

"So you don't really miss your ring that much now?"

"Of course I do. I've just learned how to live without it, that's all."

"Well, that's good, because you're not getting it back for a while, if ever. We can't trust you. Come on, let's go pick up some of your things. You'll have to stay with us for a while longer."

* * *

><p>The three of them walked partway to where the X5 was still parked. At a certain intersection, Chandra halted. "My apartment is that way." She pointed and gave them the street address. "I'll have to walk there; vehicles don't work for me, either."<p>

Dave was impressed. "Just how strong _is_ your field?" he wondered. "Okay, I'll pick up the car and meet you both there." He grinned at Alvar. "Maybe we should have kept your horse."

At Chandra's place, Dave and Alvar were conscripted into loading up the SUV with clothes and furniture. They fit a dresser, a sofa, and a bed frame inside, and tied the mattress set to the roof for transportation. Chandra carried her personal items herself. They also claimed as much food as they could pack. Daylight was still an hour away when the older sorcerers arrived back at the subway turnaround. Dave had already unloaded the X5 by then and brought the cargo inside.

The designated (temporary) bedrooms occupied alcoves opposite each other, in the tunnel spaces once used by subway trains. Similarly opposite were the kitchen and locker room, leaving the last two spaces the only ones suitable to store clutter. The men packed as much into one as they could fit in order to leave some space open on the other side. Then they moved in Chandra's things. Once her alcove had been furnished, the new tenant seemed noticeably more at ease. She complained relatively little, though she made clear her continuing displeasure at being confined.

Dave tried to be positive about the whole situation. "Think of it this way," he offered. "You're living here rent-free. You have no expenses to pay. Besides, you always have at least one of us here, so there'll always be somebody to keep you company. It's not all bad."

"I'd rather live alone," she retorted, but the words lacked the sting she undoubtedly intended. She busied herself folding her clothes and putting them away.

Dave wandered back to the cot he'd reclaimed when their guest brought in her bed. The cot was wedged into the minimal platform area in front of the locker room, as much for security reasons as for anything else. He felt comfortable, here in the lab that had become his second home, and now it was home for two others. He sat on the cot, waiting for Alvar to emerge from the room beyond the door.

The master joined him shortly. "How is she?" he asked, nodding toward the alcove across the way.

"I think she's kind of okay with this set-up," Dave responded. "You know she's not going to admit it, but it almost seems like she doesn't mind staying here with us. Kinda weird, huh?"

Alvar was skeptical. "I still don't trust her. She's a Morganian, after all. And, we still don't have a real wall for the entrance."

"How about a fence and gate instead? Would that work?"

"Well, I suppose, as long as she can't climb over it."

"Okay, I can handle that. I just need to know how many feet to buy." He scratched his head, remembering his finances. "Um, I'm a little low right now. You wouldn't happen to have any money I could use, would you?"

"You're a sorcerer," Alvar reminded him. "How could you not have money?" He strode to his dresser and came back with a heavy-looking pouch. "Here."

Inside, the gleam of gold set the recipient agape. "I...I can't use this," he finally managed. "I meant regular money. You know, dollar bills and stuff. Do you have any idea how much this is worth?"

"Enough to buy a fence and gate?"

Dave peered at the older man as if he'd gone insane. "I think I'd better go online to find out the value of these coins," he said. "If I don't get arrested for suspected theft or something, I'd like to trade them in at a bank or gold dealership." He paused, uncertain. "Uh, you don't mind me updating your funds like this, do you? I can take just a couple if you'd rather keep the rest as gold."

Alvar looked rather amused. "No, you can use as much as you like. I can always make more."

"Make more...?" Uh-oh. Dave squirmed uncomfortably. Balthazar had impressed upon him that magic was _not_ to be used for shortcuts, or for personal gain. This was definitely personal gain. "Alvar," he began cautiously, "isn't that...you know, against the rules?"

"What rules?"

"The first rule of sorcery. That's what Balthazar taught me."

"Ah, I see." Alvar smiled. "Maybe for Merlinians. You forget, though; I'm not a Merlinian. I can do what I please."

"And Balthazar's okay with that?"

"He accepts it. I'm his master. He has no authority over me except what I choose to give him."

Oh. It was a somewhat startling revelation, discovering other ways of thinking about sorcery that, even though they didn't quite match what he'd been taught, didn't fall into the enemy camp, either. He was intrigued enough to want to know more.

For now, though, he had an errand to run. Twenty feet of iron fencing and a four-foot wide gate, eight feet high, plus more wire mesh like that which protected Alvar's room, would suffice.

* * *

><p>Monday evening saw an underground lab much altered from its original state, before any sorcerers came to stay there. The latest addition was the metal separating Chandra's room from the main floor, and more books in Alvar's bookcase. The top shelf held medical books, which he was using to update his knowledge as much as possible before having to brave an online deluge of information. The shelf below was Dave's, where he'd put the textbooks he'd retrieved from the penthouse, along with a few other things that didn't fit in his suitcase. He was especially glad for Alvar's company then, for the place still felt achingly empty without Balthazar and Veronica. Chandra's books about magic, both fiction and non-fiction, took up the third shelf of the bookcase. The bottom shelf was still empty.<p>

The trio had been up for nearly twenty-four hours when Chandra decided it was time for bed. She took a nightgown from her dresser drawer and turned around to face the alcove entrance. Scowling, she announced, "I want curtains."

"Curtains?" Alvar repeated. "What for?"

"Well, number one, for privacy. It's terribly inconvenient for me to have to change in the locker room all the time. Number two, because I don't want to be looking at bars. It makes me feel like I'm in a cage. And number three, if I'm going to be stuck here with you men, I'd like at least a little space I can call my own. I want my own private room. Oh, and I want a rug, too. This stone floor is awfully cold on my bare feet."

"Will there be anything else, your majesty?" Alvar couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, not that he was even trying to.

"I'll let you know if I think of something," she assured him.

He shook his head, exasperated. "Tomorrow. We're not going back out tonight."


	12. Window on the past

"Dave, I think you were right about keeping the horse. This walking everywhere is simply unacceptable." Alvar and Chandra had just returned to the lab after their latest expedition. Ahead of them on the walkway, a manual sewing machine floated down the steps and into her bedroom alcove. Chandra carried several bolts of cloth and a bag of sewing supplies, while her escort toted a large, rolled-up rug behind her.

Dave swivelled in the desk chair to face them. He smiled at Alvar's longsuffering-husband impression, and at Chandra's self-satisfied march. At least one of them was having a good day. Then he frowned, curious. "I thought you were going to get curtains," he said.

Chandra happily informed him, "We did. We got all the materials I'll need. I worked in a textile mill for twelve years, so I picked up a few sewing tips. I'm going to make my own."

"Oh. Okay." He watched as Alvar unrolled the rug in the middle of the alcove and then left the woman to her self-appointed task. The master joined him at the desk.

"How's the research going?" asked Alvar. "After you teach me to drive, I want to know how to operate a computer, too."

Dave sighed. "Not great," he admitted. "There's no sign of them. New York's sewer system has been around a long time, so we know they should have showed up somewhere in there. If they've lost their memories like Miss Kolinsky did, who knows where they could have gone? Balthazar never mentioned seeing his past self, or future self, or whatever; but then, he's not all that big on volunteering information anyway. It'd be kind of weird if he had seen them, or even Miss Kolinsky, what with possible paradoxes and all. I'm really not sure what to look for now."

"Have you tried hospital records, or any kind of medical records, for amnesia cases?"

"Yeah, I thought of that. No luck."

"Hmm." Alvar sat on his bed and pondered while Dave continued his fruitless search through New York City history. At last, not altogether pleased with his own suggestion, he offered, "Maybe we don't need to find them."

Dave turned away from the monitor to face the bed. He wasn't pleased, either. "You're not giving up, are you?" he challenged.

Alvar shook his head. "No. That's not what I'm saying. I was just thinking about the second instance, when the wormhole returned the person it took before. Maybe, if another one manifests, it will return our lost people to us, no matter where they are. All we know for sure is that they can't come back via the tunnels."

"But the place is the same on both sides of the bridge," Dave pointed out. "At least it was for Miss Kolinsky. It's just the time that changed. We need to know where to look, so we can correspond to their location here."

"And how are we going to find that out?"

Dave threw his hands up. "I have no idea. Send her back with a note, maybe? Have her find them and bring them to a certain spot?"

"You're assuming a lot, Dave. In no particular order..." Alvar ticked off the points. "First, that the direction of travel will be what we want. Second, that she'll be able to find them and convince them to come with her. Third, that she'll be willing to help us at all. Fourth, that you really are responsible for the wormholes. Fifth, that you can learn to create and control them. And sixth, that something unforeseen won't crop up as a result of our meddling and cut them off from us for good."

"They're already cut off," Dave retorted. "For all we know, we may never see them again. We have to do _some_thing."

"Even if we haven't the faintest idea what that something is?"

"Well, why don't we start at the beginning? Let's see if we can recreate a wormhole."

* * *

><p>The first issue to be decided was the test location. They discussed it over dinner. Alvar suggested the lab, but Dave firmly rejected that idea. "I've got a lot of really expensive equipment in here," he explained. "I don't want to take the chance of losing it, especially since it's not even mine."<p>

"Where, then?"

"Outside, I think. Hardly anyone uses this street, being a dead end under a bridge ramp and all."

Alvar considered. "That might work. We'd better do this during night hours only, though."

"Yeah, I think you're right. Looks like we're all going to be working night shift for a while."

Chandra didn't think much of that idea. "'All'?" she repeated. "What's this 'all'? Why should I help you? I don't even want the missing sorcerers to come back."

Dave didn't know how to respond to that, but Alvar did. "You'll help because we're not giving you a choice," he growled. "We need both of you if this is going to have any chance of succeeding. What you want is irrelevant."

She shot him a glare that should have signaled pure hatred. That was what Alvar expected, but it wasn't what he got. There was resentment there, yes, but also something else, something he couldn't identify. That bothered him. He pretended he hadn't noticed.

The woman's voice turned icy. "So I'm to be used as a pawn again, I see. First Horvath, now you. How does that make you any better than us Morganians?"

Alvar responded in kind. "I've never made any claim to nobility. I do what I think is necessary. You'd better hope that Balthazar does come back, because he's sure to be more merciful to you than I will be if he doesn't."

To the men's amazement, then, she smiled. "Master Alvar, you're a worthy adversary, someone who, on a personal level, I can actually respect. I won't challenge you again."

* * *

><p>Thus began the sorcerers' new project. The trio worked together night and day, sharing ideas, drawing upon each other's strengths, and generally getting to know one another better.<p>

Chandra still wasn't permitted to leave the lab without supervision, but she earned enough trust to move about freely inside. The only stipulation was that she stay away from the computer and from Dave's coil controls.

Dave taught his master's master what the older man wanted to know: how to drive, and how to use modern equipment like microwaves and computers. In return, Alvar continued the apprentice's interrupted sorcerer training in Balthazar's stead.

Chandra offered her own teaching tips, as well. "I know we're on opposite sides," she said. "I just can't help myself. I never got to finish with Drake, so you'll have to do instead." They hadn't heard anything about Drake since that night.

"Excuse me," Alvar interjected. "I don't recall asking for your help, Miss Kolinsky. I'm quite capable of teaching a student on my own."

"Jealous?" she retorted. "Get over it." At his furious scowl, she continued. "Look, I'm not implying that you're less than qualified. I know you're in charge. Give me a break here, will you? I'm bored. What else have I got to do?"

"Well, okay," Dave replied when Alvar didn't answer. "You realize, though, that you're giving me even more of an advantage, learning about Morganian methods and ways of thinking."

She grimaced. "As far as I know, I'm the only Morganian left. You've already got me at a disadvantage. What more do I have to lose? It's not like I can even demonstrate the spells, either, since I don't have my ring. As far as I'm concerned, we've called a truce. I'm just trying to teach someone how to use his talents as well as he can. That's what teachers do."

Beside her, Alvar added, "And that's what a clever Morganian does, too. Make the enemy indebted to you, and you've just upped your chances of survival if it comes to a fight."

Chandra acknowledged his observation with a grin. "Yes, that too."

* * *

><p>Outside, they started by testing the limits of the Morganian's energy disruption field. It wasn't large, only a few feet in diameter, but it was so far impenetrable. For her own protection, Chandra's arms had been encased in the concrete of one of the sturdy bridge supports–Dave's work, since this was beyond Alvar's power–to keep her in place on the slim chance that their goal would be accomplished. Alvar began by lobbing plasma bolts at her, in measured increments of strength and speed and size. Nothing got past her natural shield.<p>

"I could fall asleep right here," she taunted him. "Try harder, why don't you?"

Annoyed in spite of himself, he hurled the most powerful bolt he could conjure, hard and fast. She just yawned. Alvar shook his head. "I give up," he conceded. "Dave, your turn."

The Prime Merlinian fared no better. "All right," he finally concluded. "You're immune to plasma bolts, no matter how strong they are. That's one form of energy we can cross off the list of possibilities, then. Pure force isn't going to cause the space-time disruption we're looking for."

Alvar agreed. "Of course not. That's not what caused it before, so we have no reason to believe it would be sufficient now. This is just to find out the strength and stability of the dead zone. What we've determined is that Miss Kolinsky isn't the variable factor here. You are, Dave. It's not even dependent on sorcerer power; it's just her natural sorcerer ability, like your affinity for physics."

"And yours for medicine?"

"Yes. That's how we find most of our recruits, by looking for people with unusual abilities, or those who are more adept than one would expect. Most such people are just gifted humans...er, civilians, but a few really are sorcerers, or will be, once they get a ring and proper training."

Chandra interrupted. "Enough with the preschool lessons," she remarked. "Have you forgotten about me over here? If we're done playing with ball lightning, how about letting me out of this pillar? It's not exactly comfortable, you know."

Alvar gave her a smile that was almost evil. "Good," he told her. "Maybe we should leave you there for the rest of the night. It might help your attitude."

"And what's wrong with my attitude?"

"You said you wouldn't challenge me again, remember?"

"Oh, come on, Alvar. I was just trying to help. You know how it goes; clinical detachment is never as strong as an effort you make when you put your heart into it."

He turned away from her, muttering again. "You manipulative little..."

Now it was Dave's turn to interrupt. "She's right, Alvar. That's what's missing. I need to put my heart into my efforts. From what we've discovered so far, it's going to take a _lot_ of heart. Trouble is, the only way it happened before was...well, not anything I want to repeat."

"Ahem," their prisoner reminded them again. "Let me out now? Please?"

Dave flicked a hand in her direction without even thinking about it. The concrete released her arms, and she stepped quickly away from the pillar before the Merlinian could change his mind. The three of them went back inside.

* * *

><p>"Well, we could try artificial stimulation," the physician suggested. "A person's body undergoes certain changes under stress. We can duplicate some of those changes with hormone injections. We'd start small, like with the plasma bolts, and increase the dosage a little at a time until we either get a reaction or it becomes too dangerous to continue."<p>

Dave had his doubts. "I don't know about that," he said. "It sounds awfully risky. I don't like taking drugs anyway–needles make me nervous."

"If you prefer, I can make you relive one of the relevant times. That would probably work, but you'd have to go through the emotional trauma all over again. That, plus you'd still be in that memory when and if a new wormhole does open. You'd be incapacitated. You wouldn't be able to respond, or even to know that it's there. It's your choice."

"I don't like either one."

"Can we do a combination?" asked Chandra. "Use a light trance along with lower doses of the chemicals. Add some environmental effects, and that just might be enough."

Alvar looked to his potential subject for approval.

Dave shrugged unhappily. "It's worth a shot."

* * *

><p>The following night, Alvar had the materials he needed. Two chairs had been brought outside for his companions, both of whom would have to be lashed to pillars for protection. Dave's treatment and its expected effects would render him incapable of standing, and Chandra's confinement had to be Alvar's work instead.<p>

Dave sat first. At the older sorcerer's request, he wore shorts, though he was allowed a long coat to keep the chill of night away. Thick coated wire bound his upper body to the concrete bridge support behind his chair, snug but yielding in the same way as a vehicle's seat belt would be.

Behind the pillar was a small table with Alvar's equipment. He moved the patient's coat away from one leg, then rubbed a spot just below the outside hem of Dave's shorts with a moist, pungent pad of gauze. It left a large yellowish spot on his skin. Alvar disappeared for a second, then came back into Dave's field of vision, holding up a syringe filled with clear liquid.

"Ready?" asked the master.

Dave gulped. "No, not really," he choked out. "You sure this is going to work?"

Alvar smiled. "Not at all. Hold still." He bent down and administered the shot. When he straightened, the smile was gone. "It will take a few minutes to start working. You may feel lightheaded or dizzy, maybe have blurred vision, headache, or pain at the injection site. Your heart will be racing very soon. Just try to relax. I'm right here." He looked across at the witness to their activity. "I need to get Miss Kolinsky set up, but I'll be right back."

Chandra's chair was set against the next bridge support. She stood beside it, waiting. Alvar gave her a peace offering. "Before you sit down, would you like to adjust the atmosphere?" he asked. He held out her ring in his open palm.

"You mean you trust me now?" Her surprise overrode her skepticism, but she took the ring without hesitation.

"No. This is only temporary. You're still a Morganian, after all. I'll expect it back after we're finished." What he didn't tell her was that her willingness to give it up again would be a factor in his decision to let her use it more often. By the appraising look on her face, though, he guessed that he didn't have to say it. She already suspected. To reinforce that suspicion, he added, "Don't try anything dirty. I'm keeping a close eye on you."

She grinned mischievously. "The closer, the better." Her smile broadened at his discomfiture. With upraised hands then, she swept the air all around them. The space under the bridge ramp filled with dark clouds, rolling outward and upward to form an enclosed cavern not dissimilar to that from which they'd escaped not so very long ago. An irregular line of fire marked where clouds met the ground, and every pillar sported a hovering fiery globe near the swirling gray ceiling. Rumbles of thunder echoed within the newly created room.

Alvar nodded in approval. "One final touch," he declared. He turned slowly, his red ring aglow, until the walls of clouds crackled with blue flashes in a reasonable imitation of lightning. The sorcerer trio was now in the eye of a storm.

Chandra sat, and the padded wires wrapped themselves around her. She took a deep breath. "I'm ready," she announced.

Alvar returned to Dave, who was feeling decidedly unwell. "I feel sick," the younger man said.

"It's a start," replied the master. He placed a hand on either side of Dave's forehead and gently tilted his head back to rest against the pillar. The hands moved to cover his eyes. In the blackness, Dave felt himself beginning to go numb, until his mind was the only reality left to him. Anxiety built like the rumble of the thunder around him, flashes of fear like blue lightning. Soft words spoke to him in a tongue he didn't know, words that his ears couldn't hear, and they brought forth a horror he'd forgotten. He screamed his anguish..

The ripple wasn't entirely unexpected this time, but it was just as terrifying as before. Chandra tried, unsuccessfully, to bite back a scream. She writhed helplessly in her bonds, trying to get away from it, until she noticed that it was not exerting a pull. She sat and stared in confusion.

Three ghostly figures appeared as if from murky water. Two were quite distinct–a man and a woman–but the third remained vague and somewhat apart from them. It seemed to be falling, but never moving down.

"What is that?" Alvar had seen them, too.

Dave opened his eyes an instant before the doorway roared into being. All of them saw the floodlit world on the other side, a world of trees and river and a few bronzed, barely-clad men fishing near the shore.

The ghost couple drifted closer, and the scene shifted rapidly. More trees, pathways through the forest, and the world settled on a tiny, primitive village. Horvath and Veronica were there.

They were in pain. Both were holding their heads; staring, as it seemed, through the doorway to their likenesses on the other side, their faces scrunched up in agony.

The ghosts echoed the pain. Both they and their counterparts were drawn to the portal, but something was holding them back. The specters focused on the vague, endlessly falling shape behind them.

Alvar stared in disbelief. His ring was telling him something, and he had no doubt it was true. "Balthazar," he whispered.

The doorway lost stability. It collapsed. The world beyond it was gone, and the three ghostly figures soon faded away in its wake.

Alvar freed his companions absently. Chandra joined him by Dave's chair, where he stood with a supporting hand on the Merlinian's shoulder. He told them his new discovery. "That third figure, the one apart from the others, was Balthazar, or some aspect of him. He isn't there in the past with the other two. I don't think he's anywhere, yet. That's why I can't get a lock on his location. He must still be traveling through space-time. We don't know when, or if, he'll ever reach the end. Until he does, the others are stuck where they are." That speed bump had obviously caused more disruption than anyone had thought.

Dave was still reeling from the test. Slowly, he wondered aloud, "Speaking of anywhere, that place we saw doesn't look like New York, not even in 1946. Where are they?"

Chandra shook her head. "It doesn't matter where they are, apparently, but I think they're still in New York. The other people and buildings we saw, though...they're from sometime long before my birthday. The question isn't 'where are they?' The question to ask is 'when?'"


	13. A brand-new couple

The couple fell together onto a low but thickly wooded hillside. Streams of fog dissipated above them, and streams of water rushed away below them on the ground. It was early evening on a warm Spring day, when all the world was at peace.

The humans shattered that peace. They fell heavily from the portal that opened a few feet up in the air, from which the fog and water also gushed forth. Underbrush broke their fall, and the man released his grip on the woman's arm. They lay together on the loamy earth in uncomprehending shock.

A blue-tipped cane had dropped from the man's hand and rolled just out of his reach. On the shaft, just under the bejeweled silver top, something stirred. It was a tiny dragon made of steel and of stone the color of jade, with its tail wrapped around the shaft so that it formed a ring. The tail unwound. The creature flapped its wings and lifted its head to gaze eastward, into the coming night. Its eyes glowed green. With a single leap, it was airborne and flying, fast and straight to a destination unknown. It was gone before either human could notice.

The man was the first to regain his senses, at least in part. He found the walking cane by his right hand and used it to help him climb unsteadily to his feet. He bent down to assist his companion. They stood, supporting each other and peering about them for some familiar landmark, something to tell them where they were at the very least. There was nothing.

The hillside descended to a wide riverbank on the east, beyond which a channel flowed between two islands. "Are you all right?" the man asked. "Can you walk?" She nodded. "Good," he continued. "Let's go down to the shore, then. We'll see if there's anyone else about, someone who can help us."

She just looked at him with frightened eyes. "Who are you?" she queried. "I don't know you. I don't know who I am, or where we are, or how we got here. Do you know?"

He was frightened, too, for he didn't know either. He tried not to show it. "No, I don't remember," he told her. He searched his pockets, but found nothing of use, only a sodden linen handkerchief...and a woman's black-stoned ring. He held it up for her to see. "This must be for you," he said. "Try it on, just to make sure."

That was when they both noticed the large pearl-and-diamond ring she already wore upon her left hand. The man raised his own left hand, where a heavy black ring gleamed with traces of silver. Their eyes met again, filled with the unspoken question. She tried on the new one that he gave her, on her unadorned right hand. It was a perfect fit.

The man felt a strange excitement building inside. "A gift for my wife, no doubt. It must be that." Happily, he concluded, "Well, we've discovered one thing, at any rate. We belong together."

They trudged down to the river. They were dressed for neither hiking nor riding, which told them that this destination had been unplanned. Their fine clothes were made for living in a town or city, and the gems they both sported bespoke wealth. The man took stock of the elegant cane he bore. "We were important people where we came from," he guessed. "Maybe nobility, but certainly from the upper classes." Neither of them sported headgear, but he attributed that to the torrent of water that had brought them here. "Somebody is bound to miss us soon, and start a search."

"So we should stay here in this area," the woman said. "Are you sure that's the best thing? Maybe we should look for others. Surely, someone will recognize us."

He thought about it. "We'll wait here until tomorrow," he decided. "Let's see if we can find some sort of shelter. We should start a fire, too." He was embarrassed to admit that he didn't know how to accomplish either task. He waited, hoping she would take the lead.

Unfortunately, she seemed to be just as lost as he was. Apparently, they were both used to servants doing such menial work. Well, they would simply have to do the best they could until they got back to their home. "I can start gathering wood for a fire," he offered. "I've forgotten how to light it, though. We can try stone on flint, I suppose, if we can find any flint."

She shook her head sadly. "I don't know what it looks like. It's getting dark, and I'm cold. Please, let's just find some place to rest."

He wrapped his arms around her. She was shivering. In the waning light, they found what could have been a trail leading west, away from the river back into what seemed a solid curtain of trees. They followed it until the darkness made the passage treacherous, then huddled together at the base of a large pine tree, on its bed of last year's needles. She lay with her back to him, and he held her close against him. In this way, they spent their first night in this strange and lonely place.

* * *

><p>Morning came at last, and with it the pangs of hunger. Their clothes were mostly dry now, except where they'd been pressed against the ground or against the other's body. Now the couple, in addition to being lost, was beginning to realize how much they needed help. They continued along the trail as quickly as they could manage.<p>

A blur ahead of them stopped them mid-step. It thunked into an oak tree on the side of the path and quivered there for a second before it stilled. The shaft of a spear blocked the travelers.

They drew up short. The man pulled his companion to his side, trying to protect her in case of further hostilities. They waited anxiously.

It wasn't a long wait. A half-dozen young men emerged from the trees all around them, including one on the trail ahead who must have been their leader. The others were armed with fishing spears, bows and arrows, but he held only a dagger. He looked to be not quite twenty, but that was still older than the rest of the party. They were clad in animal skins, and not one was over five feet tall. That was tall enough to hunt.

The leader barked out questions that sounded like demands, but it was in a language unknown to the visitors. He paused to wait for a response, slapping the side of his dagger blade impatiently against the palm of his free hand to show them he was serious. The male visitor shifted nervously in place.

Then his jaw dropped in astonishment. The woman was answering! She spoke in the natives' language, conversing with the leader as easily as if he spoke fluent English. The party lowered its weapons at a signal from their eldest, who strode forward to retrieve the embedded spear and then beckoned to the newcomers in an unmistakable gesture: follow me.

"What were you saying to each other?" asked the man.

"I told him we were lost, that we've forgotten who we are and where we came from. I asked for help. He's impressed by our height and fairer skin. He seems to think we're gods who are testing them, pretending to be strangers so we can judge how well they treat us and send them good or bad luck accordingly. I thought it best not to correct that impression."

He nodded. "Wise decision. How did you know their tongue?"

"I...I don't know how I knew. I just did." She was perplexed by her own ability, and it came through in her voice.

"Well, I'm just glad you did."

She added then, "He asked what we wanted them to call us. I said I'd tell them when we got to their village. What shall I tell them?"

They walked in silence while he considered. Finally, he shrugged. "One name's as good as another. Pick something you like. I'll go with 'Victor.'"

Now it was her turn to think. "For some reason, I keep coming back to 'Agatha.' Maybe that's my name, or else she was someone I used to know."

The newly christened couple Victor and Agatha walked with their escorts as honored guests. Things were looking up.

* * *

><p>The tribal chief was old compared to his people, though not to the pair he now welcomed. Unlike the single braid that the men of his tribe sported, his head was shaved. It was painted instead with simple designs of red and brown and yellow. Around his neck hung a braided cord strung with talismans, denoting his status of shaman as well as chief.<p>

It was a small village. About two dozen birchbark huts spread out from a central clearing where a bonfire was kept alight at all times. This was where the people gathered for meetings, meals, and other social events. A larger, more solidly constructed building nearby was partially open to the elements, for one room between two others lacked a wall facing the fire. Split logs laid side-by-side and bolstered by stones underneath provided a relatively level floor. Woven mats covered the floor; on this, the guests were invited to sit.

They did so gladly, and were soon surrounded by native men and children. The women brought food–fish and flat bread and honey–and waited outside the circle while the others ate. They took their meal after the men were finished.

Agatha spoke with the chief as soon as she and Victor had satisfied their hunger. Arrangements were made for the newcomers to split up until evening: he to accompany the chief's son, leader of the party which had met them on their way to the shore, to observe their fishing methods, and she to stay with the women and learn all she could from them. The couple would sleep in one of the two enclosed rooms beside the open space which they now occupied. Tonight, a celebration was planned to honor the visitors and the gods they were thought to represent.

* * *

><p>Victor was anything but happy when he returned to the village at sunset. The catch had been good that day, with fish and crab and shellfish filling the wicker baskets. He'd observed for a while, but soon lost interest and wandered along the shore, trying in vain to remember something of his past life. Had there been a search for him and Agatha? Why and how had they come here, and how long would they be lost? Had they been running away from something? Were they in exile here, or refuge? It was infuriating, not knowing.<p>

The boys–he couldn't think of them as men; they just weren't old enough–felt his displeasure, but they didn't know its cause. They moved nervously around him, as if afraid that they were doing something wrong. Nor could he reassure them without Agatha to translate. He ignored them until it was time to go back.

Now, watching the bonfire with his woman by his side, he settled into a morose silence. Her day had been productive, and she was pleased with the progress she was making. She smiled at the shaman chief as he danced before the fire to the singsong chant of his people. A braided headband intertwined with Spring blossoms adorned her hair now, a symbol of her matron status to the tribe. Victor wished he could share her sense of accomplishment.

He stared blankly at the fire. Little by little, the rest of the world faded away, until he saw only the leaping flames...and more. His eyes narrowed. As he focused, the flames themselves broke apart into tiny particles, each caught in a twirling dance of its own. They came from the wood at the base. Everything was in motion, faster in the bonfire's center, slower at the edges.

He glanced away from the fire to the pile of wood in reserve to keep it alight. The wood's particles were slower still. He wondered why: was the fire the cause of faster movement, or the result of it?

Even as he thought it, the wood pile erupted in flame. All around him, natives scrambled to put it out. Only Agatha, seated beside him, noticed the cane he held absently in his hand. She clasped his arm and pointed it out to him.

The jewels were glowing blue.

Victor was just as surprised as she was. "It can't be," he denied, covering the gems with one hand. "They're not even hot." He looked around for something else on which to experiment. Everything nearby was in use, so he strode to the nearest tree and broke off a leafy branch. He laid it on the ground in front of the bonfire, then stepped back and pointed his cane at it. Again, the jewels lit, and the branch was consumed in a sudden blaze. He and Agatha watched, awestruck, as it burned.

They weren't the only ones who noticed. The wood pile had been doused, finally, and several of the villagers were free to observe the branch demonstration. They trembled before the wielder of the cane. From their midst, the chief stepped forward, only to drop to his knees and bow his head in submission. He said something, and his people followed his example.

Victor smiled and nodded. "Now that's more like it," he declared. His mood was considerably improved.

* * *

><p>"I wonder what else I can do with this." Victor held up the cane to inspect it more closely. He and his mate had retired for the night, in the large room used for tribal meetings during inclement weather. The enclosed room on the opposite side of the open area between was the storehouse.<p>

Agatha was uneasy. "Please," she begged, "don't use it against these people. They've been kind to us. You don't need to frighten them."

He shrugged. "They think we're gods, don't they? Let's just make sure they keep thinking that. A little demonstration of power now and then should be enough to keep them in line."

"But we're their guests, Victor. We're not their rulers."

"We are now." He felt supremely satisfied. Yes, this was the way it should be. "We were meant to be rulers, don't you see?" It was so obvious to him that he was sure she would see it, too.

She didn't. "Maybe we were, once, but not now," she said. "These aren't our people. We have no right to command them."

He sighed. "I don't want to argue about this. We can discuss it more tomorrow. I want to do some more experimenting, anyway, to find out what other powers this thing has." He put the cane down then and focused his gaze on her. "And what about you?" he asked. "You are one of my people. You're my woman, mine to command." He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Now Agatha had another reason to be uneasy. She backed away. "We...we don't know that for sure," she objected.

Victor rolled his eyes. "Oh, come now," he countered. "We're the only two people of our kind. There's nobody else. Why would we have been sent here together if we weren't husband and wife? Look at our rings. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

"But...I don't love you. I'm sorry."

"Love? What does that have to do with anything? Since when do arranged marriages depend on love?" He paused to recognize her reluctance. "It's all right. Love will come later, you'll see."

"Please, not tonight." She had backed all the way to the door, and now stood nervously against it, her arms folded defensively in front of her. She seemed poised to flee if he should press the issue.

He scowled, but eventually gave in. "Oh, all right. Not tonight. Come back over here, will you? I promise I won't touch you...yet." She returned slowly to his side. "Just remember, though; this is temporary. I'm giving you a little time, but I'm still the one in charge. You _will_ obey me."

"Thank you, Victor." She lay down on a mat apart from his, but sleep eluded her long after it had claimed her companion. Her dreams, when they came, were troubled.


	14. The third exile

During the days that followed, Victor discovered more of his amazing cane's capabilities. He could draw people and objects closer to himself, or hurl them away if he so chose. He could make the natives say or do anything he wanted, though that power didn't extend to controlling Agatha. Objects would obey his will, as well. To his disappointment, he found that he wasn't able to fly, even though he could raise things off the ground and move them about. The cane had its limitations.

The tribe feared him, which suited him well. He began to make demands of them: new clothes, a private furnished cabin for him and his wife, a basin of clean water every morning, and reports of the area and any neighboring villages. "I'm looking to expand," he explained to Agatha. "This place is too small. We need to grow if we ever hope to develop a civilization."

"You mean if you're ever going to rule a kingdom," she replied bitterly. "One village isn't enough for you."

His voice lowered in warning. "Careful there, woman. I've left you alone so far, but don't test my patience. It's growing thin."

It was true: he _had_ left her alone, but there was a price. He'd taken to using the native women as concubines on occasion, much to the chagrin of their husbands and relatives. He seemed to enjoy exerting his authority in this way, not only over his subjects, but over Agatha as well. Her pleas for him to spare them, that she would give herself in their place, were met with gleeful rejection. She would be his, but it would be on his terms, not hers.

She kept her expression neutral in response to his warning, but he could see the tension there in her face. One day soon, he would have to break her, maybe in front of his subjects so that she would serve as an example. That would depend on the situation.

For now, though, she wasn't ready to challenge him. "I'm going to help the women prepare dinner," she told him, then turned and left the hut.

Outside, Agatha joined the ladies of the village. This was where she found respite, in the simple chores and activities of the day. She enjoyed all of them, learning quickly despite her evident lack of experience in such things. It was good to feel useful, good to converse with others who shared her love of home and hearth. She smiled at the many children who flocked around them, and wondered if she had any of her own, back in her forgotten past. The thought filled her with an aching emptiness; their father would be a man who cared more for power than for love.

* * *

><p>Her melancholy remained even after the meal was over. She moved to rise, to help clean up, but Victor reached out to grab her arm and hold her in place. "You're not happy," he observed. "We'll have to do something about that." He waved to the chief. "You!" he called, his meaning clear even in an alien tongue. "Dance!" He moved his hands to mimic the actions he wanted. The chief resisted, whether out of ignorance or of pride, but Victor would have none of it. He pointed his jeweled scepter, and the ground in front of the village leader exploded in a fountain of dust. The people yelped, and the chief leaped back in alarm. "Dance," their commander repeated.<p>

He didn't have to tell the man again. He did as he'd been ordered, clearly resentful but too cowed to disobey. From the ring of onlookers, his eldest son, the leader of the hunting party that had found the tall ones, glowered at them all.

Agatha felt the chief's shame as clearly as his son did. She found it difficult to even look at him, so she kept her face averted. Thus, it was she who caught the first glimpse of a strange ripple in the air nearby. She looked more closely. "Victor," she called to get his attention. She pointed. "What is that?"

He'd been enjoying the sight of a leader humbled before him, but now he tore his eyes away to see this new thing that had appeared. It was growing in size and clarity. Before long, the rest of the tribe noticed it as well. The dance stopped, but by this time, Victor didn't care. The ripple frightened him, though he didn't know why. He pulled Agatha back away from it.

It wasn't far enough. With a roar like a maelstrom, a hole opened in the midst of the disturbance, a void in the midst of great light, beyond which they saw nothing but blackness shot through with brief, bright flashes like lightning. It was pulling the couple toward it, but they were brought up short by another invisible force. They were caught by conflicting currents, and it hurt.

The pain was nearly unbearable. Fortunately, it was short-lived. The void collapsed, leaving its victims helpless on the ground.

This was an opportunity not to be missed. Before Victor had a chance to recover, the chief's son darted to his side and scooped up the fallen scepter. He ran back with it, out of the older man's reach, and shouted something to his people as he held it high in triumph. Some cheered.

Victor sat up, woozy. He crawled to Agatha and helped her up, too. The boy yelled at them, pointing the cane as he'd seen the other do. "What's he saying?" asked Victor.

"He's telling us to leave, or he'll use magic on us."

"He's just a boy. He doesn't know how to use magic." Victor's contempt was clear. He got to his feet and started toward the young warrior. The boy, who hadn't expected a challenge, looked scared. His hands shook as he held the cane like a spear toward the approaching threat. He was trying to summon magic, but nothing happened.

Victor sneered. With a wave of his hand, the blue gems glowed, and the cane tore itself from the boy's grasp, back into its master's keeping.

The advantage was gone, almost. Desperately, the chief's son did the only thing left to him. He flung his dagger at the enemy.

Victor caught it easily. He held it with a smirk, examining the blade with the eye of an expert. "Not bad," was his verdict. "Let's see how well it cuts." He drew the boy toward him from the mass of terrified villagers, drew him as if with an unseen chain.

"Victor, don't." Agatha begged for the boy's life. "Let's just go, please."

"They need a lesson, and I'm going to give them one." There would be no mercy this day. He forced his captive to his knees, while his own dagger hovered in the air above him. The knife turned to point straight down at its owners upturned, horrified face. Victor made a single gesture.

The killing stroke never came. Instead, while the natives gasped in astonishment, the dagger shot away, out into the surrounding forest where it was lost to view. Agatha stood with her hand stretched out before her, the black stone of her ring glowing with a warm inner light. She seemed just as shocked as the rest of them; her move had been instinct more than anything else. The intended victim didn't wait for them to focus their attention back to him. He scrambled up and back to his father's embrace.

"So," Victor noted to the woman who had dared to defy him. "It seems I'm not the only one who's capable of magic. This should make life interesting."

* * *

><p>He was falling, falling through a swirl of lights in darkness. A torrent of warm water carried him along, sometimes tumbling away, sometimes washing over him and taking his breath away. He had no sense of direction now, or of time or distance, but it seemed to him that he'd been falling for an eternity, far from anything he'd ever known, without an end in sight. His lungs were burning. He needed air, and soon.<p>

The lights ceased. Now the darkness was complete, yet he was still falling. A rush of cool night air gave welcome relief until he was plunged into the base of a sudden waterfall. The warm torrent drove him deep into a pool of chill black water, then ceased, its journey ended.

He was disoriented. Kicking frantically toward what he hoped was the way up, he heard a roaring in his ears that warned of impending drowning. He would have to inhale, even if only water filled his aching lungs.

Luckily, his head broke the surface just before that happened. He took in air, blessed clean air, as he struggled to stay afloat. This wasn't a pool, he discovered; there was a significant current that told him otherwise. He looked around. On one side of the river, steep bluffs hulked nearly to the water's edge, but on the other, the land was more accessible. He set out for a line of black shapes, silhouettes of trees against the moonless night sky. His long leather coat made swimming difficult, so he wrestled it off and let the current take it. Even so, he found himself progressing at an angle, so that his swim to shore was much longer than he'd hoped.

His feet hit bottom at last. He was shaking from cold and exhaustion when he finally crawled onto dry land. His legs would carry him no further. The world spun around him, and he sank to the ground, dizzy and sick and lost alone in this wilderness. Darkness descended upon him, and he knew nothing more.

* * *

><p>The days passed. Agatha delighted in her newfound magical abilities, nearly equal in power to those of her housemate. She used them to aid the villagers whenever possible, which endeared her to them even more. They grew to love her as much as they feared Victor, and she became devoted to them as her adopted people.<p>

Victor, meanwhile, had become preoccupied with the idea of expansion. The tribe's territory was large to allow for sufficient hunting and harvesting, as well as for fishing which provided the staples of their diet. Neighbors were few, and most of them were nomadic. He was frustrated that he lacked the resources to conquer them and bring them back to add to the number of his subjects. The closest settlement was almost directly north about ten miles away, across the strait that connected the two large rivers on either side of this land. Victor's village sat near the juncture of the strait and the river on the east; a good strategic location to be sure, he noted with approval. Once he had enough people, he'd set them to building a fort, probably on one of the two islands he'd seen on the day of his arrival.

He sent an expedition to the neighboring village, ostensibly to establish diplomatic and trade relations, though his real purpose he kept to himself. Upon the expedition's return, the delegates gathered around Agatha. They were excited about something, and that excitement quickly took hold of their matron as well. She led them to Victor.

"They found something," he guessed.

Her smile was radiant. "Yes," she confirmed. "Their tribe is similar to ours. They're willing to talk..."

He interrupted. "Are they hostile?" Part of him hoped they were; that would give him a good excuse to use the battle skills that came so easily to him.

Her smile faltered at the eagerness she heard in his voice. "Well, no," she said slowly. "The gifts our people took with them were well-received." The gifts had been the chief's idea, not Victor's. "Plus, there's been intermarriage between the two clans. The chief's wife came from there. But there's something else...or I should say, some_one_ else."

"Oh?"

Now the reason for her excitement became clear. "Yes. Someone like us. Like us, Victor!"

He stood silent for a bit, not quite sure how he felt about the news. He rather enjoyed his status of demigod, and didn't welcome the possible competition, or perhaps even challenge to his authority. On the other hand, the new person just might provide clues to their past, and that was something he desperately wanted.

Agatha was waiting for his response. He speculated, "Maybe someone has been searching for us, after all. Well, let's find out what he has to say for himself. Tell them to send him here straightaway."

Her smile faded. "I...I'm afraid we can't do that, Victor. They say he's been ill ever since they found him. He's not well enough to travel, not yet."

"Well, that's awfully annoying." Victor was too impatient to wait for the stranger to recover. "I suppose we'll just have to go to him, then."

* * *

><p>They found the man under a canopy strung from the boughs of tall trees. The back of the canopy hung down to form a wall, behind which the forest was hidden from view. A thick mat beneath the manmade roof protected its user from the moist earth, the user who was currently stretched out upon it, sitting partially upright with his back against a pile of heavy furs.<p>

He was busy at the moment. Village children surrounded him, watching as he wrote upon a flattened piece of bark with a rough stick of charcoal. He finished, then held out the bark in one hand, pointing with the other to what he'd written. "See?" he said in English. "Deer." It was a crude drawing of an animal with its name written above the illustration. He indicated each letter as he spoke. "D-E-E-R. Deer." He said another word, which must have been the native term for the creature, then reiterated the name in English. The children repeated what they'd just been taught. He smiled along with them, then added the bark to a heap of others beside him. Evidently, he'd been teaching for some time now.

Victor and Agatha had barely reached the first hut of the village when the children noticed the commotion. They abandoned their teacher in an instant to greet the newcomers. Thus it was that the fair-skinned ones met one another as strangers, yet with a taste of familiarity, a remnant of a home beyond remembrance.

The couple halted under the canopy, beside the man on the mat. Victor spoke first. He nodded toward the pile of drawings. "Not much of an artist, are you?" was his opening comment.

The man didn't reply, but studied his visitors instead. Agatha studied him, too. He was unlike anyone else she'd seen here, even her husband. He was tall and fair-skinned like Victor, but he was otherwise unique. His hair fell in waves of light brown with strong hints of red, and his eyes were the color of the noon sky. Rings adorned every finger. He wore a loose brown garment like a robe, fitting for a convalescent, which had obviously been made just for him. His teaching indicated more than just physical differences, as well. This was a man not only of intelligence, but of compassion and a gentle servant's heart. She found him fascinating.

"You speak English," the man noted, pleased. "It's good to hear my own language. I've been trying to teach these kind folks at the same time I'm learning theirs, but it's not the same." He extended a hand upward. "Welcome."

After a moment, Victor took the proffered hand and shook it once before letting go. Then it was Agatha's turn. Her clasp was somewhat more gracious. The stranger gave her a warm smile, which she returned gladly.

Her companion introduced them. "I'm Victor. This is my wife Agatha. We're from the village next door, so to speak, but that's not our real home. Unfortunately, we don't know where that is. We seem to have suffered a rather severe memory loss concerning our past, and there's no indication that it will come back anytime soon, if at all. We were hoping you'd be able to help us."

The stranger shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid the memory loss is affecting me, too. I don't even know my own name. I thought it was because of the sickness, but apparently that's not the culprit. I wish I could help. I was actually hoping that you could help _me, _but it looks like we're all caught in the same situation. At least you two have names."

"Oh, those aren't our real names," Agatha corrected. "At least, they probably aren't. We just picked them so we'd have something to call each other."

"Really?" He considered, then requested of her, "Would you mind picking out one for me, too?"

He waited while she pondered and Victor shifted impatiently. She came to a tentative decision. "What do you think of 'John'?" she asked.

He smiled again. "'John' will do just fine."

* * *

><p>The visit lasted until the sun had dropped low in the sky. Then the couple's escort began to show signs of restlessness; they wanted to get back to their own village before nightfall.<p>

John didn't want them to leave. "Will you come back tomorrow?" he wanted to know. "I'm really enjoying your company." His eyes lingered a bit longer than necessary on Agatha.

"We'll see," Victor replied. They'd related to each other their experiences since entering this world a month ago, sharing speculations and what little they'd learned about themselves...including their magic abilities. John, upon hearing it, had discovered that he shared those abilities, though he tried to be discreet about using them in front of the tribe.

"There's really no point in trying to hide it," Victor told him wryly. "My people are well aware of our powers, and I'm sure they've spread the word to yours."

"You're right, I suppose," John conceded. "Still, I'd prefer to keep the demonstrations to a minimum. I'm a stranger here, as much as I've tried to make friends with these folks. I'd rather not put even more distance between us. It's lonely, being set apart like this. That's why it's so good to know you're here. It's why I wish you could stay."

Agatha graced him with a smile and a warm hand on his. She echoed his sentiments. "I'm glad we found you, John," she said. "We're set apart, too. We will come back; maybe not tomorrow, but soon. When you're well enough, you can come to visit us at our village. I'd like that."

"When I'm well enough, I'll do that," he promised. "I have a plan for later on, too."

"What plan is that?"

He demurred. "I don't want to say just yet–I'll have to talk to my hosts about it first. If they agree, then I'll tell you about it the next time I see you. Call it a bribe to make sure we do meet again."


	15. Plans and visions

"You like him, don't you?" It wasn't a question.

Agatha stood on the river bank beside her husband while their people pulled the big canoe into the water to take the party home. She pretended she didn't understand his meaning. "Yes, of course," she responded, not looking at him. "Don't you? He seems nice, and he's one of us. Why would I not like him?"

Victor knew she was being evasive, but he let it go–for now. So the stranger had made a good first impression. What of it? Any other representative of their unknown origin would surely have done the same. His wife was merely revealing the loneliness she felt when she took so strongly to the first such representative they met.

As for Victor himself, he had to admit that it _was_ good to find someone else like them, even if he hadn't been able to give them any information about their past. The man even shared their magic! As long as he didn't interfere with Victor's ambitions, he should prove to be a worthy companion, and maybe even a friend.

The boat was ready. Agatha waded out to it first and sat near the bow, while Victor took the bench at the stern. Into the river they floated, where their escort steered them toward home.

* * *

><p>Victor was more withdrawn than was his wont on the following day. He allowed Agatha and the chief to take care of tribal matters while he remained aloof in his hut, thinking and making plans that he shared with no one. That evening, when Agatha brought him dinner, he deigned to satisfy her curiosity, at least in part. "We're going back up tomorrow morning," he told her. Her face brightened with anticipation, he noted with some annoyance. "I need to find out what our fellow traveler plans to do, and whether he'll cooperate with what I plan to do."<p>

"What do you plan to do?" she asked, though she already suspected.

"We're going to take over the new village, add it to this one. I'm not sure if they'll have to be moved here, or if I can just leave a deputy in charge where they are now. I like the idea of having settlements on both sides of the strait."

She wasn't pleased with this information. He'd known she wouldn't be. Agatha didn't look at him, but lit the oil lamp hanging near her bed mat. She plucked a half-finished deerskin dress from atop a nearby pile; sitting then, she continued to work on the garment. "What if the other tribe doesn't want to join us?" she queried, her eyes still on her project. "Do you care what they want? And what about John?"

"These people are savages," he replied brusquely. "They'll be a lot better off under my leadership. If they're too stupid to realize that, well, that's not my problem.

'As for John, he just might be my problem. That's why I want to find out his intentions."

Now she let her irritation show. "And me? Does it matter what I want, Victor?"

"Only if you cause trouble for me, Agatha. I strongly suggest you keep our disagreement private, for your own sake if not for mine."

Angrily, she returned the dress to the sewing pile and lay down on her mat, her back deliberately turned to her roommate. A wave of one hand extinguished the oil lamp.

Victor was unconcerned. He finished his dinner and set the empty dish outside the door for a native to take away. Pausing there, he debated with himself; then a slow, unpleasant smile crossed his face. Yes, tonight he would take another substitute. That would irritate his uncooperative wife even more, at the same time reminding her of her helplessness to stop him. He spied a girl young enough to be his daughter. She would do nicely, he thought. The blue gems on his scepter began to glow.

* * *

><p>John was able to sit up now without the support of the fur mound at his back. He still moved carefully, wincing at each exertion that forced a deeper breath, but his pleasure at the visitors' return was evident. "Welcome back," he greeted them with a happy smile. He took Agatha's hand to kiss it. "You look almost native," he told her. "I like it."<p>

She wore her hair in twin braids today, with the ever-present woven headband serving as an accent. New flower blossoms intertwined in the circlet, pink and yellow and white against her raven locks. Her deerskin dress was new, as well. It was fairly short, stopping just below her knees, and sported beaded trim in a floral pattern that matched her headband. Moccasins and jewelry completed the outfit.

"Thank you," she replied almost shyly. "This is better for hot days like today."

Victor wasn't impressed. "Yes, yes," he acknowledged dismissively. His own outfit complemented hers, though he lacked flowers in his improvised crown. "Well, we said we'd be back, and here we are. You said you had a plan, John?"

The man nodded. "Ah, right to business, I see. Yes, well, I did talk to the chief, but he didn't seem to be very enthusiastic about my idea. I was hoping that our two villages could work together to make life a little easier for all of us–you know, share labor and information and maybe resources. It would start with constructing a road to connect us, including a bridge across the strait."

Thoughtfully, Victor responded, "That's a good idea. Actually, I've been thinking about doing something similar. I can get my people to cooperate. What about you?"

John shrugged. "The chief isn't interested. I'm not going to force him."

"Why not? It's for his own good. You said so yourself."

"I prefer to work in more subtle ways," answered the man on the mat. "I teach and guide." He grinned suddenly. "Look," he said, reaching to one side toward the pile of illustrated bark tablets. Beside the pile was a wooden toy, which he held up for his guests to see. "I made this for my students," he told them. It was a simple model wagon about five inches long, with a hole in the front end for the string used to pull it. "The villagers don't use wheels," he pointed out. "No draft animals. I figure a small, hand-pulled wagon would be a good start to introduce them to the concept. A full-sized one would be big enough to give the children a ride, or it could be used to haul baskets of fish back from the shore. I'm sure they can come up with a lot more applications, too." He seemed quite pleased with his intended contribution.

"Hmph." Victor mused to himself. If he could convince John to go ahead with the partnership despite the village chief's opposition, he would undoubtedly make a good assistant. Eventually, this settlement would be under Victor's command, whether through conquest or assimilation. The means weren't important; only the ends mattered. "Clever," he granted. "Let the people look up to you, start looking to you for leadership because of the help you're giving them, and the chief will become irrelevant. It's not the way I would go about taking over, but to each his own."

"Oh, I don't want to take over," John protested. "I really do want to just help."

"Fine. That doesn't matter. You'll be a leader in their minds regardless. If you'd rather stay in the background, I'll be happy to take on the official duties. In fact, that would probably be better, so we can coordinate our efforts more easily."

"Ahem," Agatha broke in. The men looked at her. "Has anyone bothered to ask what I think?" It was a rhetorical question, so she answered it herself. "No, of course not. Well, I'll tell you anyway. What I think is, we should leave the native people alone. If they wanted our help, they'd ask for it. The tribes–both of them–were doing just fine before the three of us showed up. We have no right to interfere. I say we should leave this place once John is well enough, try to find more of our own people, maybe even get back to wherever it is we came from. That's what I think." She crossed her arms and peered at her audience like a mother about to scold her naughty children.

Her audience just stared at her for a moment. Then they looked back at each other to gauge their respective reactions. Together, they shook their heads and agreed, "No."

Victor made his argument first. "We can bring these primitives out of the Stone Age, Agatha. Look at them! No vehicles, no draft animals or livestock, no cloth, no paper, no metal, nothing! They don't even have indoor plumbing. They need us. There must be a reason we were sent here. Who's to say this isn't it? I'm a natural leader, and John here is a natural helper. It's a perfect setup."

"That's right. And besides," added John, "it would only be with their consent. We have a lot to offer: not just ideas, but our magic abilities as well. We'll leave when they ask us to leave, all right?"

Agatha bit back her retort. She knew her husband well enough to understand that he had no intention of abiding by the natives' wishes. John was giving him far too much credit. However, this wasn't the time or the place to correct that impression. Victor's warning from last night was still fresh in her mind. She would have to speak to John later, when Victor was busy elsewhere.

* * *

><p>That opportunity came not too much later, when the children gathered around for their daily lesson. A few of the tribe's women joined the group, eager to learn more since their children had related their newfound knowledge to the family. Victor found the class entirely beneath him. He left his wife with the huddle of students and took the canoe with its crew back out onto the water. They paddled south to where the western river met the strait, then east to the shallowest part of the waterway, so that he could work out his plans for a suitable bridge.<p>

One of the older boys, about eight years old, could barely wait until the lesson was over. He had a secret that he very much wanted to share. John noticed, and asked in the boy's own language, "What is it, Tabani? Tell us."

Tabani's smile was so big that those around him couldn't resist smiling as well. From under his shirt he pulled a wooden figurine and brought it to his teacher. "Deer," he said in English. "D-E-E-R. Deer." He was enormously proud of himself.

"You made this?" John examined it carefully. The boy had talent. Despite the lack of antlers, the animal was definitely a deer. He set it down beside the toy wagon. The two were made on the same scale. It was too bad the figurine wasn't a horse, he mused, or he could have shown them how a real horse and wagon worked. Idly, he moved the wooden creature to where the imaginary horse would have been, wrapping the wagon string around it like a harness. The villagers laughed at the spectacle, except for the woodcarver who now stood uncertain of his accomplishment.

Again in the native tongue, John strove to reassure the boy. "This is very good, Tabani. You did a good job." He imagined the toys at full size, picturing a stronger, heavier beast at work. He touched the deer, preparing to demonstrate what a real draft animal would do.

The thing moved on its own. The little wooden head lifted, and the ring of onlookers stepped back in amazement and just a touch of fear. The deer leaped in perfect imitation of a living specimen, trying to escape the string which bound it to the wagon. The wagon rolled forward, and the panicked animal bounded ahead, pulling its burden along with it. John caught it before it got too far. It became lifeless again under his hand. Carefully, he released it from the wagon and lifted it, fascinated by his newly discovered ability. His eyes sought out Agatha. She was as dumbstruck as he was, but his mind was already racing with possibilities. He returned the deer to its maker, who took it with much trepidation. "This is excellent," John told him with a smile that left no doubt of his sincerity. "I may be asking you to make more things."

Now Tabani was the hero of the day. The other children swarmed around him until their mothers pulled them away to go back to their birchbark homes. Tabani led those who were left to the woodpile in front of his work space. He chose a suitable hunk and began a new project while his admirers watched every move.

Only Agatha remained under the canopy with John. "How much more can we do?" she wondered aloud. "I wish we didn't have to rely so much on accident."

John was thoughtful. "Maybe you were right," he admitted. "Maybe we really should start looking for more people like us, after we build the road, of course."

"But Victor wants to concentrate on the villages. He wants to turn them into his own personal kingdom. He doesn't care what the people think about it, and he's not interested in leaving to search for others who can do magic."

"You sound kind of bitter, Agatha. You don't think we can change his mind?"

"I know we can't."

"So what do you suggest? I don't want to fight him, if for no other reason than that he's your husband."

She stared at the ground, but didn't answer. He guessed that theirs wasn't a happy marriage. He didn't press the issue; it wasn't his place to pry. Instead, he reached out to take her hand in his. She met his eyes, and he saw the unhappiness there. "I'm sorry," he said, though he wasn't sure for what. "If you need a friend, I'm here."

"Thank you, John. That means more to me than you know."

* * *

><p>Victor was thrilled with the discovery of a new power. "The only thing holding us back is the time it takes to sculpt what we need," he concluded. "I'd prefer stone, but I suppose we can use wood. I wonder if wicker is strong enough to do heavy labor. Probably not." He rubbed his bearded chin. "If we can bring nonliving material to life, I wonder what we can do with living material."<p>

John narrowed his eyes. "I don't think I like the sound of that, Victor," he warned. "I won't allow experiments on people, so don't even suggest it."

The other man brushed aside his concern. "Just thinking out loud. I'm trying to come up with a way to get the animals we want without having to wait for weeks or months while somebody crafts a statue." He had no personal objections to using people as subjects for experiments, but he wasn't about to tell his temporary partner that. He would direct his own private experiments back home, away from John's disapproving oversight.

"In the meantime," he continued, "I can start supervising the building of that bridge we were discussing. There's a place not far from here where the water isn't very deep; it shouldn't take too long to construct a solid crossing. You can get your people working on a real wagon big enough to carry both passengers and cargo. Once we get our animals, things should go a lot faster."

'What about me?" asked Agatha. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Victor nodded. "Yes. You can charm the villagers, both here and at home, to help us out willingly. We'll need them to make paving stones for the road. If you can have them look for metal ores, too, that would be excellent. There has to be some iron ore around here somewhere. Step one in moving us out of the Stone Age is teaching them how to make and use metal. Our resident teacher..." He pointed at John, "can handle that part."

Despite her earlier reservations about interference, Agatha found herself in agreement with the men. Their vision was catching on. Maybe Victor was right; maybe this was the reason they'd been sent here. She preferred to think of their situation as a mission, rather than as exile. As long as they were here, she would do her best to help both her own people and those she'd adopted.

The three magicians clasped hands as one. Thus the trio truly became a team.


	16. Forbidden knowledge

"He's arrived," Alvar announced one evening when Dave came back from class. It had been more than two weeks since their experiment, and the sorcerers had nearly given up hope that their lost companions would ever be able to return. The mood in the lab was one of fading determination, a battle against despair that was slowly being lost.

Now, with this news, Dave felt the first surge of elation since that night at Bowling Green. There had been precious little good news until now: Becky hadn't come back after Spring Break, Chandra was chafing against her indefinite prison term, and the penthouse was still too empty for Dave to feel comfortable there alone. At least his classes retained a sense of normalcy, and he did his best to concentrate on his studies despite his growing restlessness.

"Can you tell where?" he asked. "Is he with the others?"

Alvar shook his head. "He's north of here, but we're not close enough for me to pinpoint exactly where. I can't tell where the other two are, or even if they're all in the same time period. The only way to find that out is to try another wormhole."

"Okay, let's do it."

* * *

><p>They waited until nightfall, then set up Dave's position outside as before. Chandra was allowed to stand free beside him this time, since the expected direction of pull would be from the past. Dave was unbound as well. Again, he felt the effects of the needle beginning while the older sorcerers enclosed the area in the eye of a storm. Again, he felt the touch of Alvar's hands on his head, the touch of dread beginning to swirl in his mind.<p>

A shimmer in the air caught Chandra's attention. "It's working," she confirmed to the men beside her. Alvar nodded without looking away from his subject.

As the shimmer grew stronger, it became a ripple. Now the ghosts appeared. The image of Balthazar was clear and upright now, no longer falling in place. It was still a little apart from the others, though. The three specters drifted closer together, closer to the ripple, waiting for the doorway to open.

It never did. Dave's effort was evident in his face, but it wasn't enough. Alvar frowned. He administered a second, carefully measured injection, and intensified his psychic prompts. Dave's body shook. Cold sweat covered his skin, and he groaned in misery.

"It's starting to shred," Chandra alerted them. "We're going to lose it soon. Maybe one more shot?"

"No," said the physician. "He can't take any more. We'll have to let it go."

As if on cue, the ripple tore itself apart. Piece by piece it disappeared, until only the drifting ghosts were left to show that anything had been there at all. They looked lost for a moment before fading away themselves. The wormhole attempt had failed.

* * *

><p>"Why didn't it work?" Dave's frustration was making him impatient, both with himself and with his comrades. "I thought we had it figured out. I thought we all knew what we were doing. What went wrong?"<p>

The accusation was meant for Alvar, the only obviously important variable in the two experiments. The master sorcerer's face clouded with anger. "I do know what I'm doing," he snapped. "It wasn't my fault."

"Well, it wasn't Chandra's fault, either," Dave retorted. "All she had to do was be there both times. And it sure as blazes wasn't my fault. You're the only one who did anything different."

"I gave you another dose because the first one wasn't working like it did before! There was no reason to suspect it wouldn't work just as well this time. If you'd been cooperating, maybe it would have!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Boys, boys!" Chandra intervened in the argument. She held up her hands in a gesture of reconciliation. "Calm down, both of you. Dave, none of us made a mistake. Whatever went wrong, it wasn't because we messed up. Alvar, what do you mean when you say that Dave wasn't cooperating?"

Alvar was still angry, but he had regained his self-control. "I mean he was resisting me," he told the mediator. "He wasn't allowing me to invoke the necessary emotions, even after the second dose. I couldn't press harder without wiping out his mind entirely."

"What?" Dave had no idea he'd been resisting. "I wasn't trying to keep you out, Alvar. How could I be resisting you when I want this to work as much as you do?"

The older man spent a few moments in thoughtful silence. Finally, he ventured, "It's probably subconscious, a natural self-defense mechanism. Nobody wants to feel the way you would need to."

"Well, no, but I've been through it before. I know it's only temporary, and it's for a good cause."

"But that's just it, Dave. You know it's not real. No matter how much you try to convince yourself that it is, in your heart you don't believe it. You can't feel grief, or fear, when you know it's based on a lie."

"So why did it work before?"

Alvar smiled. "Think about it, Dave. None of us knew what to expect. The fear was real. We didn't know for sure what had happened to Balthazar, or even if he was still alive. The loss was too near. Besides that, you'd never had your mind invaded before; I could tell. You're just lucky I'm a friend."

"Yeah." Now Dave was feeling more than a little sheepish. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I guess it was my fault after all."

"It's all right; I understand."

"So what now?" asked Chandra. "If we can't induce the right conditions to produce another wormhole, do we have to wait until something happens for real? That may never happen again. For Dave's sake, I hope it doesn't."

"Let me think about it," Alvar replied. "I think we've had enough excitement for tonight, though. Let's get some sleep."

* * *

><p>Chandra was the first to rise the following morning. As usual when she had the chance, she checked the exit door, and as usual, it was locked. She sighed. She had hoped that, since the three of them were on a first-name basis now, the others would trust her enough to let her go out on her own. They still didn't believe her when she promised to return voluntarily.<p>

Back in the kitchen area, she set about preparing breakfast for them all. It was a self-appointed task, like her sewing projects; something to make her feel useful and to keep her from thinking too much about her future. With Morgana gone and her top general Horvath gone, she had no leader from whom to take direction. She was, for all intents and purposes, the only Morganian left. And because Morganians were required to forego all emotional attachments, she had no family or friends to whom she could turn. It was the price one had to pay for the promise of power.

Power, she thought ruefully as she mixed the batter for thin pancakes that would soon be rolled into blintzes. What power do I have now? Alvar has my ring, and even if he did give it back to me for good, I couldn't fight him, not with the Prime Merlinian on his side. Truth be told, she had to admit that she didn't _want_ to fight the man. He and Dave had treated her better than anyone had from her own side. Morganian she might be, but she was also human, and a woman who'd been too long alone. She hoped she wouldn't be called upon to choose one side or the other.

* * *

><p>Dave sat back from the table with a satisfied smile. "I am getting way too spoiled," he informed his fellow diners. "I haven't had a junk food breakfast since you two moved in. Bennett is so jealous." His former roommate had visited the lab once since the end of Spring Break, when he met its new inhabitants, "Uncle Balthazar's relatives." He didn't want to know any more, for which Dave was profoundly grateful. He'd always been a bad liar.<p>

"Thank you, Dave." Chandra accepted the implied compliment with alacrity. "I try to keep my boys eating right. We need to put some meat on those bones of yours. You're much too skinny."

Dave's smile broadened. "Yes, mother," he said.

"That's 'Auntie' to you, young man. 'Great Aunt,' in fact. _He_–she nodded toward Alvar–could have been my brother's son."

"You have a brother?"

"Not near. We haven't spoken in years, not since I became a Morganian. He took the aliyah route a long time ago." She fell silent, lost in sullen memory.

Alvar had been quiet throughout the meal. Now he leaned back in his chair, coffee cup in hand, and stared at the center of the table, his expression one of serious thought.

Dave noticed. "What are you thinking, Alvar?" he wanted to know.

"I'm thinking..." the other replied slowly. "I'm thinking that maybe it's time for us to delve into an area of magic where we didn't want to go."

"So you're saying...?" The smile was gone.

"Yes. It may be the only way to reopen that doorway into the past, unless we want to wait for a disaster sometime in the future, a disaster that will hopefully never come."

"But why? If strong emotions...well, _certain_ strong emotions are the trigger, how is learning dark magic going to help? Morganians don't care about anyone but themselves."

"That's not true," Chandra objected. "We're not supposed to care. We learn to control our emotions, not let them influence us. That makes it easier to focus on our magic." She looked down. "Some of us don't entirely succeed."

Alvar agreed. "The best example of control was Morgana herself. I'm one of those who didn't entirely succeed, and that was even after I'd learned directly from the master. The emotions are still there; it's the control of them that matters."

Dave leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Okay, so what you're telling me is that I need to gain control over my feelings. How is dark magic going to help me do that? Why can't I just take Zen lessons or something?"

"Because Zen lessons or something require an act of will to deny yourself. This goes deeper. It penetrates into your very soul. The danger is that it will go too deep for you to recover once the job is done."

"I still don't get it. What exactly does it do, just learning about this stuff? It's not like I'll have to murder anyone, is it?"

The ensuing pause was distinctly uncomfortable. "It may come to that," Alvar finally admitted. Dave stared, shocked, and the older man continued. "Most people, even Morganians, aren't sociopaths, Dave. Their psyches have to be really warped to fall into that category. What dark magic does is tamper with your psyche. It suppresses the natural affections that we're all born with and overrides them with cold ambition. The more you use it, the stronger it becomes."

"So learning isn't as bad as actually doing it," Dave guessed, somewhat relieved. "I just won't practice what I'm taught, then."

"You can't learn without practicing. They go together. The other side of the coin, though, is that you do gain control of your emotions. That cold ambition allows you to call up whatever is necessary to achieve your goal. You can turn it on or off at will."

"But then it's not real. You said we can't feel grief or fear unless we know it's real."

Alvar finished his coffee and set the empty cup on the table. "We can if we have the control," he said. "This knowledge will give you that control. Once you've learned, we won't need any more injections. We may not even need my prompting, though I hope we don't have to go that far down this road. If we reach that point, it's probably too late to bring you back."

"Too late... You mean like Horvath." Dave was sharply reminded of the argument he'd overheard at the penthouse, and why Veronica had wanted to shield him from such knowledge.

Alvar shook his head. "I don't know Horvath well enough to say. I do know that Balthazar learned, and it made him the strongest sorcerer at the compound next to Morgana. Of course, being elite helped, but the control was what gave him the skill to fully utilize his power."

"Well, Balthazar obviously recovered," noted the Merlinian. "If he can do it, so can I."

"Don't be too quick to assume that. We're still not sure why he was the exception. I don't think even he knows." Alvar had his suspicions, but they were too nebulous to share.

"But what about you, Alvar? You learned it, too, and I don't think you're such a bad person."

"Thank you, Dave." The former Morganian gave him a sad but grateful smile. "I've done some rather terrible things in my day, though, including that murder you mentioned, on orders from Morgana. I don't know why Balthazar forgave me, but he did. He's the only reason I'm here now trying to help you. His influence countered that of the dark magic; but again, that was an exception. We can't count on that to be a factor with you."

It was a sobering warning. Dave sat silent for a while, pretending to focus only on finishing his orange juice. When it was gone, he met his companions' waiting eyes. "Balthazar changed my life," he told them. "I don't know whether that's a good thing or not, but I don't want to go back to the way I was." Even if it meant losing Becky, at least he'd had her for a little while. At least he wasn't a loser anymore, thanks to her...and to Balthazar. "I owe him as much as I can give. I want to do this, Alvar."

"Even if it means losing your soul?"

"Maybe it won't mean that, but even if it does, yes."

Chandra sat fascinated, taking in the conversation and learning much about both Alvar and Balthazar Blake It was a testament to the level of trust her captors placed in her that they allowed her to hear such information. True, she was no threat at the moment, but the future was yet unknown. How would she repay that trust if the opportunity arose? She didn't know.

She shook herself at the sound of her name. "Chandra," Alvar was saying. "We'll need your help here, too. I can pass on everything that Morgana taught me, but there have been a lot of other spells created since then, from what I understand. Would you be so kind as to take over where I leave off?"

"Yes, of course.," she answered. This, then, was the way to repay their trust. She would be teaching the Morganians' greatest enemy everything he needed to know to destroy them. Somehow, she didn't feel guilty about it at all.


	17. Stone age to steel

The bridge was finished before the road was. The last planks were laid in place at the center, across a ten-foot-wide gap in the support pilings below. The underpass thus created, as high as it was wide, was small but navigable by the usual canoe traffic on the strait.

"Good job, Victor," John called from his end of the gap. Together, the men had guided each plank through the air to its proper place and secured it there, which was a much faster method than simple manual labor.

John had recovered well from his illness. Gone was the loose robe he'd worn while under the canopy, in favor of a new outfit made specially for him by the women of his village. Now he sported a sleeveless leather tunic and leggings, with a belt and short boots crafted of rattlesnake skin. His many rings were the only reminder of the clothes in which he'd been brought here.

Victor smiled, pleased. "Yes, it is good, isn't it?" he agreed. He met his partner in the middle of their newly completed project, and they stood for a while admiring their handiwork as the water flowed beneath them.

Agatha, joining them at length, had a suggestion. "It really should have handrails, don't you think?"

The men deflated a bit. "Well," John conceded, "I suppose it could. We just thought it was wide enough so we didn't need them." He wasn't ready to admit that neither he nor Victor had even thought about it.

The lady wasn't fooled. She smiled indulgently but let her men keep their pride. "It probably is wide enough for people to just walk across safely," she allowed. "Eight feet should be plenty of space. What concerns me is the wagon."

John was in charge of said wagon. The wooden pieces were done, but they were still waiting for axles, nails, and other parts made of iron. Ore had been discovered in the hills to the north, but those hills were already inhabited. It had taken all of John's and Agatha's diplomatic skills to persuade those inhabitants to allow extraction.

Then there was the refining process. John knew how to do it, as he knew so many other things without knowing how he knew–in theory. None of them, magicians or natives, had actually had any experience as a metal smith. A few nails were all they had to show for their efforts so far. It was a start. Now that the bridge was usable, John could devote his energies to getting the wagon done. He hoped to finish it before the end of Summer.

Agatha's task was building the ten miles of road. That required clearing a wide enough path, making it level, and paving it with large flat stones. She, or rather her magic, did the heavy lifting and placing of those stones, but the project was still labor-intensive for the crew. At the time of the bridge's completion, the road wasn't quite halfway done. It would be a while before it was ready to support a wagon.

And what would be expected to pull the wagon? That was Victor's assigned area of supervision. His people had made for him small-scale images of the beast he described, using various materials to test their suitability. As Victor had predicted, wicker was too flimsy. Clay had a tendency to crumble, and stone would take much too long. Wood seemed the ideal choice.

Victor hadn't forgotten the first demonstration of a wooden model brought to life, nor his speculation about using live material to start with. "Leave the body cavity hollow," he instructed the sculptors of the two-foot-high ox they were making. "I want to be able to put things inside when you're finished." If nothing happened, he figured, they could always craft another animal of solid wood.

The hollow beast behaved as expected when it was animated without anything added. Next, Victor had the villagers fill the cavity with shells, bones, and other animal parts. This had the effect of changing the ox's horns and hoofs into perfect imitations of real ones. Excited now, he had one more test. Into the belly of the beast went a young opossum lowered by its tail, and the scepter's blue gems glowed again.

The ox became an ox. Wood gave way to flesh, the terrified squeal of the creature inside cut short. It was the first true example of kine that the natives had ever seen, albeit in miniature, and they were terribly impressed by the power of its creator. They backed away from it, awed and just a little nervous at this latest manifestation of the supernatural.

"So that's the secret," the magician said to himself. "Now we build a full-scale model." Louder then, he addressed his subjects. "I'll be having beef for dinner tonight." To Agatha, he continued, "I'd like John to see this. We'll take our little bull up there, and the three of us can eat at his place."

* * *

><p>The full-scale model was a hide-covered wooden frame with a latched door built into one side. Victor experimented with different animals that were small enough to fit inside, bird and mammal and reptile, with the best subject found to be the clever raccoon It was absorbed into the body of the ox, lending its intelligence and temperament, as well as its flesh, to the framework that encased it. Victor noted the result of each animal they used; then, when he was satisfied, he released his control, whereupon both cage and captive resumed their original forms, though the animals suffered different degrees of shock. They were put back into holding crates to await judgment. Those with more nervous dispositions didn't survive the stress.<p>

"All right," Victor concluded. "It looks like we stick with raccoon. It's the smartest animal of the bunch, and it seems to handle the transformation reasonably well." He waved at the array of crates with their various inhabitants. "Do what you like with the others," he told his people. "We'll keep the coon as our default subject unless and until we find one better." He raised his scepter. One crate opened, and an invisible cord pulled out the creature within, quickly and steadily hoisting its struggling victim back to the hide-covered cage. It chittered in terror, but the master paid no heed. With nothing more than a wave, he consigned it to its fate. The wooden bull became flesh, one life in place of another.

Victor smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant expression. "Well, that's one," he announced. "We need another to make our yoke of oxen." He turned to the crafters of the first statue. "Get it done."

* * *

><p>They learned more about the spell when morning came the next day. Agatha preceded her husband to the sleepy ox tethered by a large tree. She wanted to check on their test subject, to find out how it had weathered its overnight stay. She patted the bull's flank, and it flicked an ear at her lazily. Encouraged, she called to Victor. "He seems calm enough now. Will you release the spell?"<p>

He complied, or tried to. The bull stiffened, but remained a living animal. It tensed. Frowning, Victor tried again, this time focusing more on his goal and adding a bit of counter-force for good measure. The increased effort paid off: the bull became a statue once again.

The reversion wasn't complete, however. Where the skins of wild beasts had covered the wooden frame, cowhide now grew as naturally as if it had always been there. The hooves remained hooves, the ears and facial features those of an actual ox. Judging by sight alone, the beast was as genuine as any that had ever been born.

Victor ran his hand along the creature's side where the latched door should have been. The flesh gave a little, but there was a hard surface not more than an inch below it. He pressed, exploring with his fingers. Yes, there was the latch. Three swift strokes of his favorite knife revealed as many sides of a bloody rectangle, saving only the side that was hinged. The knife jerked upward under the latch and pulled the door open.

The thing inside was alive, but it wasn't a raccoon anymore. It had so far retained its general shape, so that one could guess what it had once been, but there were drastic changes. The fur and even the skin were gone, leaving exposed a quivering mass of tissue that jerked from time to time as if still trying to escape. There was no face left, only the skull that still partially shielded the brain and a toothy jaw set in rictus. The four paws were missing, as well. They had been transformed into tendons that firmly attached it to the floor of the prison in which it lay, the floor wherein bovine flesh was beginning to push its way through the wooden slats.. Over all, a thin membrane pulsed with the blood of the living sacrifice. Victor offered his assessment: "I can't decide whether it looks more like a developing fetus or a half-digested hunk of raw meat."

Agatha turned away. "I think I'm going to be sick," she replied.

He dismissed her reaction without a second thought. "Well," he said lightly, closing the door on the thing inside, "we've learned something important today. Another day, or maybe two at the most, and I believe we'll have a real ox, one that doesn't need a spell to keep it alive. Think about it, Agatha! When we make more, both bulls and cows, maybe they'll breed on their own. We could have a herd.

'And we don't have to limit ourselves to cattle, either. We can make horses, or any other animal we want. This is wonderful! Just wait until John finds out." He was beaming with pleasure.

His wife, though, was still feeling nauseous. She couldn't get the image out of her head, the image of a living animal trapped inside the body of another, slowly dissolving until its life force was subsumed. In that day or two, there would be nothing left of their unwilling test subject, only the memory of its terror. Yes, they needed draft animals if there was to be any significant progress, but she couldn't help asking herself: is it really worth the price?

* * *

><p>John, to Agatha's consternation, took Victor's side in the debate. "Look," he told her, "I'm not happy about the method, either, but once we get enough animals for a self-sustaining population, we won't need to do this anymore. We should be focusing our energies on other things, not using so much to animate and control a bunch of statues. The villagers should be able to use what they've built, right? Once we're gone, they'll have control of the herds. It would be nice if those herds were live animals, not useless pieces of wood. Otherwise, all their work will have been for nothing."<p>

"You didn't see what I saw," she murmured. "It was horrible."

He took her in his arms-a quick, comforting embrace- then let her go. "No," he agreed, "I didn't see it. I think it would have been better if you hadn't seen it, either. Just remember, it was only a body, one that won't be there much longer. Its spirit is still alive. I'm sorry, Agatha, but we have to put human needs first." He turned his gaze to Victor. "How are the natives handling it?" he asked.

The other man seemed bemused. "They're treating it like a caterpillar forced into its chrysalis phase. They 'talk' to the raccoon's spirit, explaining what's happening and asking for its forgiveness, since it's too late to ask permission. They really believe in all that spirit nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," Agatha snapped. "We, of all people, should know there's more to life than just what we can see."

"Whatever. The point is, they accept the change. To them, all animals are equal, so it doesn't matter what form the spirit inhabits."

John nodded. "Maybe that's the best way to think about this. Agatha, why don't you talk to the shaman, ask him to help you contact the spirit through a native perspective? It should make you feel better, if nothing else."

"I will," she said sadly. "I just wish it didn't have to be this way."

He gave her a sympathetic smile, then reached out for her hand. "Here," he said. "Let me show you something." He waved to Victor to accompany them, and the trio moved to an area set apart from the rest of John's adopted village. This was the smithy, where the strongest men crushed rocks from a large pile of iron ore, sweeping the detritus aside to leave the valuable bits for refining. A bellows stoked a charcoal-fed fire into which those bits were cast and periodically removed for hammering upon a great, flat stone. On a long plank to the side lay the end results of the process.

John picked up a nail from the plank. "I've been doing some experimenting, too," he explained. "Look." He closed his hand around the nail. The green gem lit up in his ring while he concentrated. When he relaxed his grip, the nail had changed from iron to fine, smooth gold. He presented it to the lady, who took it with a gracious smile of thanks. "It doesn't have to be gold," he went on. "I can make it silver, bronze, steel, copper, or any other metal. The shape can be altered, too. The variation in mass is limited, though. I can't turn one little nail into a full-sized wagon axle."

Victor was thoughtful. "Flesh changes to flesh, and metal to metal," he mused aloud. "Interesting." He clapped his partner on the shoulder. "Nice work, John," he said with a grin. "We've just gone from the Stone Age to Steel in the space of a few short months. A few other important inventions, like paper and cloth, and we'll have ourselves a genuine civilization."

* * *

><p>"Sheep. That's what we need."<p>

"Victor, we're moving awfully fast," his wife countered. The couple had just returned to their home cabin. "We don't even have all the oxen we need yet. Let's slow down a little, all right? Give our people a chance to adjust, one major change at a time."

"Just thinking ahead," he answered. "Sheep will give us both wool and parchment, not to mention another source of meat." He paused to gauge her reaction. "Don't worry. We'll use some lowly creature that nobody likes, a snake or a frog or something, since we won't be training a flock of stupid sheep."

She wasn't mollified. "The type of animal doesn't matter, Victor. You know I don't like this...this forced sacrifice. Maybe, _maybe_, it has to be done, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Fine. I just won't tell you any more when I make new species. I'll leave you totally out of the animal business. You can just concentrate on roads and such. Oh, and public relations too, of course. Happy now?"

She glared but didn't respond. She wished John had come with them, or that she could have stayed at his village with him. At least her duties allowed her to see him, often without Victor at her side. She was coming to treasure those times...

Agatha shook her head. I shouldn't be thinking this way, she scolded herself. I'm a married woman. True, Victor took sadistic delight in forcing himself on the women of the village, particularly those who still resisted him, but that didn't give her the right to break her own unremembered vows. She gazed at the golden nail she still held. It was the first gift she'd received from one of her own race, the first since Victor had given her the magic ring upon her right hand. The ring should have been more meaningful. It wasn't. Carefully, she touched a fingertip to the nail just below the head. In a few seconds, a small hole had been bored through the shaft. Strung from a length of cord, it would be a simple necklace for her, a constant reminder of the giver. Wrong she might be for doing this, but it was a source of comfort to her, comfort she never got from her husband. Surely, that couldn't be a bad thing. It was only a necklace, after all. Content for the moment, she smiled.


	18. Friends and progress

The wagon was ready, but the road was still under construction. The longer portion of the route, that on the southern side of the strait, had been done first, and now John lent his assistance for the northern segment. The work sped up considerably.

He set the last paving stone hovering above the last patch of ground to be covered. Leaving it there, he bowed toward Agatha. "It's your project," he said with a smile. "You get the pleasure of finishing it."

She gave him a nod of thanks. Her hands moved with finesse, setting the stone delicately into place while the crew and her partner looked on. A hearty cheer signaled the completion of the passage. John took the liberty of clamping her in a hug strong enough to lift her feet off the ground. They swung halfway round, laughing, before he let her go.

"Congratulations," he announced to everyone. "You've all done great work. Now our two villages are connected by both land and water routes. We've all been made stronger by this; you have no idea how much progress we've just made. You should be proud of yourselves."

The group marched back to John's village on the shore of the western river. He stayed close to the lady. Neither of them seemed aware that their hands had become joined, as if this display of affection were the most natural thing in the world.

He leaned closer. "I have something else to show you," he hinted. "We're going to surprise Victor when we take you back home."

Her contentment faded at the reminder. "There's no hurry, is there?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

It didn't work. "No..." replied John carefully. She saw the sudden concern in his face, but declined to enlighten him. Some things were just too private to share with anyone, even a good friend like John. Her marital woes were among those private things. He knew that she and Victor had their problems, but he wasn't one to pry. They would tell him when and if they were ready.

His eyes flicked downward to the simple necklace she wore half-hidden under her dress. He'd seen it earlier, but then forgotten about it until now. The golden nail pointed to her heart. Don't read too much into that, he chastised himself. The pendant would be awkward if it hung in any other direction. It's just jewelry. Women like jewelry, especially shiny gold jewelry. The first niggling thought wouldn't go away, though. Hating himself for even considering the idea, he considered it anyway. Experimentally, he ventured, "I like what you've done with the nail. I didn't expect it to be useful for anything."

"So why did you give it to me?" She was testing him as much as he was testing her. She studied his face while he struggled to find an answer, then smiled and fixed her eyes on the road ahead. His silence told her as much as anything he could say.

At last, awkwardly, he stammered, "It was...I don't know. Impulse, I guess. I'm just glad you like it." They traveled together without further speech, each of them lost in his thoughts.

* * *

><p>"Oh!" Agatha drew back in surprise. "You said the wagon was done, but you didn't tell me about those."<p>

"Those" were twin oxen made of smooth silver-gray steel, already harnessed as they waited for the touch of borrowed life. They were an imposing, almost menacing sight.

John was grinning proudly as he patted the nearer statue. "Yeah, I made them myself," he told her. I'm not going to be making them real, though; I'm leaving that option for Victor. If we start back with them now, we'll get to your village sometime after dark, so it's a good thing you suggested the handrail for the bridge. That helps when you can't see where you're going. Torchlight only goes so far."

"But I thought the plan was for me and my crew to go back by canoe tonight, right after dinner. We were going to bring up a pair of live animals tomorrow for the wagon."

"Well, now you won't have to," he replied. "Your people can still take the waterway home tonight, but I was thinking that I would drive you back on the new road. It will take longer, though, so we should get started right away." He paused as something occurred to him. "But that means we won't even have time for dinner first." He inquired of Agatha, "What do you think? Do you want to grab something to take with us, or wait until we get to your place?"

She had a third option. "John, would you mind...Would it be all right if I stayed here overnight? My people can give Victor the message. We could leave first thing in the morning. Please, I don't want to go back tonight."

"Well, if you're sure..." He didn't know whether to feel elated or afraid: elated for the chance to spend more time with her, but afraid he would give himself away if that time were granted. She was a married woman, after all. He had no right to feel anything more than friendship.

He compromised. "All right," he said. "I'll ask if you can stay with the chief and his family. If not, there are lots of other huts available. We'll find someone." They walked together to the village square. "Meanwhile, why don't we load up the wagon with gifts and trading goods? Two oxen are strong enough to haul just about anything we want. Let's prepare them for their first day of work."

* * *

><p>Victor was waiting for them when the team arrived in town. He didn't look happy, either. He stood back while John helped Agatha disembark, scrutinizing their every move with suspicious disapproval. "You took your sweet time coming back," he accused his wife.<p>

John felt the tension between them. He interceded. "It was my idea," he lied. "I asked Agatha to wait and come with me–she stayed at the chief's house overnight-so I'd have someone to talk to today while I drove. That, and I wanted to show her how to handle an ox team. What do you think of them, my babies?" He waved at his steel creations to show them off. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Victor didn't believe him, it was clear, but he allowed himself to be distracted. "They'll do," was as much as he was willing to admit. John looked somewhat crestfallen, and Victor smiled at the evident success of his revenge. He felt a bit better now.

Most of the items in the wagon were metal, the one commodity that John's village had with trading value. They ran the gamut, from nails and arrowheads to saws and ax heads, from scissors and knives to pots and utensils, and very many other things besides. Victor's subjects crowded around the wagon to receive what the trio handed out.

"What's this?" Victor meant the stack of iron ingots that was left when the other metal items were gone.

"They're for you and Agatha," said John. "If you need more tools or whatever, you can use these as raw material and just change them into what you want. You might need more than one if you're looking for something bigger. I figured you'd like to try your hand at crafting your own things. You know what your people want and need better than I do."

"Why, thank you, John. That's very considerate." For the first time that day, Victor appreciated the friendship he had with his colleague. He was already imagining the uses to which he'd put the materials at hand, uses of which his friend might not approve. Well, they could wait. He didn't want to jeopardize future trades.

Foodstuffs and animal pelts made up the gift portion of the shipment. They weren't many, since both tribes already had sufficient, if not abundant, supplies. They were tokens of alliance more than anything else.

One large box was all that remained in the wagon. John opened it on the ground in front of the village children. "Compliments of Tabani and me," he told them with a smile. "Enjoy."

There were toys inside: little wooden animals, wagons with copper wheels, dolls, various instruments, and building blocks painted in different colors. The children wasted no time in emptying the box. Some of them even thanked their benefactor.

Agatha watched the scene, as enchanted as the children with their gifts. She hadn't known about the box of toys; John had kept that a secret until now. Bless you, John, she thought. You're a good man. If only... She stopped herself from going any further. Wishful thinking wouldn't change a thing. Instead, she did her best to just enjoy the moment.

* * *

><p>A trio of riders paused atop a bluff overlooking the west river. It was a warm afternoon, one of the last before Autumn brought its harvest. An array of orange and yellow and green, and an occasional red, crowned the hills. The water below was a peaceful silver ribbon today, at certain points calm enough to mirror the sky overhead.<p>

"We've come a long way," John observed. He patted his horse's neck, and the animal whickered back at him. He didn't mean just the distance from their starting point, Victor's Village as they called it. He meant the progress that had been initiated since he and his companions had come here to this peaceful, primitive world. That progress was limited only by the population, which was still too small to satisfy its leaders' lofty ambitions.

It was also a population grown nervous by so much change. John's Town, the industrial end of the trading route, was a radical departure for a tribe used to a mostly hunter-gatherer lifestyle. Even with all the improvements brought about by the use of metal, his people were reluctant to discard their old methods and materials. He let them be; he simply served as an example by personally using what was crafted until they grew more comfortable with the new ideas.

As for Victor's Village, it was the designated livestock center. His subjects refused to keep the beasts penned up, since the concept of animal ownership was foreign to them. Victor could force many things on his people, but he couldn't make them think the way he wanted. In the interest of practicality, then, he annexed the two islands off the eastern coast, those that he and Agatha had seen on the day of their arrival. The smaller, northern one was first cleared of predators and most trees, then occupied by a herd of horses newly integrated with the subjects locked inside them. Next year, it was hoped that natural foals would augment the number of the herd.

Similarly, the southern island became home to cattle and sheep, kept separate by the sturdy fence that Victor insisted be built. The only other structures on the islands were those needed to properly care for the animals, and gated bridges to connect them to each other and the mainland.

"A long way, yes," Victor agreed, "but there's still much further to go." That was why they were here, on this hilltop: they were surveying the land for more people and resources. The hill tribe to the north had declined to join the alliance of the two villages by the strait, preferring instead to allow ore mining in exchange for finished goods, by water transport only. They distrusted paved roads and strange animals.

A trek down the eastern river had proved to be more rewarding. At the southern tip of the land mass was another settlement, one with well-developed boating and fishing skills. The people here were more amenable to trade and learning. Already, another road was in progress along the coast between South Port and Victor's Village.

John sounded wistful. "I was hoping we'd find more people like us. It's kind of lonely, being the only ones around with our knowledge, and with magic." It was even lonelier for him, since at least the couple had each other. He cherished their friendship, but still he hungered for more.

"Don't give up," Agatha encouraged. "We've just started to really explore, now that things are running smoothly without us having to supervise everything."

"I'd like to go further, on longer trips, but I'm not sure how safe it is to be gone for more than one day. What if something goes wrong at the forge, or the wagon breaks down, or something else happens?"

"You worry too much," Victor told him. "If you want to go, then go. I can look after your town while you're gone. How's that map of yours coming along?"

John unrolled the parchment he was carrying to show his friend. On it was a rough drawing of the land between the rivers and the area surrounding it. The four known settlements were marked, as well as the roads, bridges, and paths not yet paved. One of those paths ended where the trio now stood. Much of the map, however, was still blank, especially the northern and western sections. "That's where I want to go next," said the cartographer, pointing to the unmarked space beyond the west river. "But I don't want to go alone."

Victor shook his head. "I'm not leaving my village. The natives are intransigent. If I'm gone too long, they'll let all our progress deteriorate. I won't allow that to happen."

"What about Agatha? If we do meet more tribes, her translation skills will come in very handy."

"No."

"No? Just 'no'?"

Agatha spoke for herself. "Why not, Victor?" she challenged. "Don't you trust me?"

He glowered at her, but said nothing in front of John.

She took advantage of his silence. Turning back to the other man, she declared, "I would like very much to accompany you, John, as a friend and companion. We all know it's nothing more than that, _don't we?_" That last was directed at her husband.

Victor scowled. "Do what you like," he snarled, then wheeled his horse around to head home.

John started after him, but Agatha called out, "No, John. Let him go." She caught up to him, and together they rode back along the path.

"I'm sorry," said her comrade. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."

She sighed. "It's not you, John. This has been an issue for a long time, even before we met you. Victor is much too possessive. He wants to control everything and everyone, including me."

"Are you sure it's not just ambition? I know he's been pushing for more and more changes–progress, improvements, whatever we want to call it–but is that really so bad? You must admit, the standard of living has gone up considerably, not just for us, but for the natives as well."

"Maybe," she allowed. "I just don't like the pressure, that's all."

He reached across the space between their mounts. With a conciliatory smile, he took her hand and squeezed it. "You need a vacation," he decided. "I'm glad you chose to come with me."


	19. Romance blooms

The journey took them first across the west river, then south along the shore until the river turned to sea. They kept going. John demonstrated another of his talents, locating and shooting game to keep them well-supplied. He used it also to provide gifts for the people they met along the way, who were pleasantly amazed to hear one of the tall strangers speaking to them in their own language. John updated his map at the end of every day, whether as a guest in a native village or outside his tent on the trail. Word of them began to spread, so that soon they found themselves expected even before they reached the next village on their route.

Twilight was just starting to fall when the travelers came to the southernmost point of their trip. Here the land ended, and only sea lay beyond. The horses were tired, and so were the riders. They stopped there on the beach. John dismounted and reached up to help his companion. "We'll camp here for the night," he said.

Agatha nodded wearily. Leaning down toward him, she pulled her foot back to release it from the stirrup. It caught. The horse skittered, and she lost her balance. She fell forward...

Into John's strong arms. Startled, he held her there against him, and neither made a move to break away. She looked up at him, wide-eyed with something close to longing.

He couldn't resist. He kissed her with a passion she'd only dreamed of, but it ended far too soon. He let her go and quickly backed away, the guilt plain on his face. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I had no right. It's just...I've been wanting to do that for so long. Forgive me. It won't happen again." He turned away, ashamed.

Her voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks. "Even if I want it to?" He stood frozen while she came to stand in front of him again. "John," she continued, "don't you know? Victor and I...our marriage is empty. I'm nothing more to him than a prize possession. He doesn't love me; and, though I've tried, I haven't been able to love him, either, not as a wife should love her husband. I need love, John, and I need to love someone else. I need you." She touched his face and concluded, "It's you, John. You're the one I love."

* * *

><p>She finished setting up their campsite while her beau scoured the beach for driftwood to fuel a fire. When he came back, he had an armful of wood, which he arranged inside a circle of stones. Stepping away from the pile, he held up one hand. Instantly, flames arose, a cheerful campfire come to finish their day.<p>

"I found something," he told Agatha with a hint of mischief in his voice. "Come here and I'll show you."

She waited as he emptied the leather pouch at his belt and held up the contents in his hand. "What are they?" she asked. Smooth round pebbles they appeared to be, but clear as glass or diamonds. The largest was no bigger than her thumbnail.

"I'm not sure," confessed the finder. "They're pretty, though, aren't they? I thought maybe you'd like them, maybe to make more jewelry." He sounded hopeful.

"I suppose I could..." She saw the almost desperate eagerness in his face, the boyish striving to please his lady love, and couldn't maintain her coy facade. She smiled. "That's sweet of you, John," she said. "They're really quite lovely. Thank you." She rewarded his efforts with a kiss.

They watched as night fell over a red-gold sea. It was a glorious sunset.

Later, they lay together on a blanket under the stars, he on his back, she nestled up against him with one arm across his leather-clad chest.

"I never want to go back," she said. "Not to the village, and not to wherever it is we came from. I just want to stay here with you forever. It's perfect."

He smiled, his happiness nearly as complete as hers. He was disappointed that she'd refused to do more than kiss, but he understood her reason, even if he didn't agree. She was still a married woman, after all. They would have to talk to Victor about that.

For tonight, though, it was enough that he was alone with the woman he loved. The sound of the surf, the smell of marsh flowers in bloom, and the bright moon overhead all seemed to give their blessing to this couple from a faraway land. Tonight, no magic rings were needed. Love had a magic all its own.

* * *

><p>"But you can't go so soon! We've barely started exploring this land, and already you want to leave?"<p>

John waited for a moment before he answered, trying to find words to adequately express what he felt...what he _knew._ They were riding back now on the return leg of their journey, but the signal hadn't changed. How could he make her understand? He held up his right hand. "It's my ring, Agatha. It wants me to go east."

"What?" She felt no such urge from her own ring of power. "How can that be? How do you know?"

He shook his head. Like so many other things, he didn't know how he knew. He just did. "How do you know every language?" he asked, "even though you've never heard it before, or at least don't remember if you have heard it? How do I know where game is, and where it will be when I shoot it? It has to be part of our magic, of who we are."

"But east? There's nothing out there but ocean." _Don't leave me_, she didn't have to add.

"Maybe not, but that's what my ring is telling me. I have to follow its leading." He considered, then told her the rest. "I think that's where our people are, Agatha, the others like us. They're calling me back home across the sea."

She looked a little hurt. "But what about me?" she asked. "I don't feel a calling. Victor's never mentioned anything like that, either. Are we to stay in exile, then?" She turned away so that he couldn't see her face. Hesitantly, she revealed her greater fear. "Are you sure it's our people, John? Not one person in particular? Do you think there might be...someone else?"

He sighed. That was the risk he'd taken when he decided to tell her the rest, the risk of hurting her as he'd just done. He took her hand, squeezing it tighter when she tried to pull away. "Agatha," he said firmly, "look at me." She ignored him. _"Look at me,"_ he repeated. She did, finally, and he could see the fear in her eyes, fear of losing him and her hope of happiness. "I love you," he assured her. "I don't want anyone else. Whatever happened in our pasts, it's over. That was another life. Now, in this life, you're the only one I want. That's not going to change, no matter who I find on the other side of the world. All right?"

"But if you have a wife there, children..."

Now it was his turn to look away. If he did have ties there, he wouldn't be able to come back to Agatha, and they both knew it. "If that's the case," he replied with heavy voice, "I still have to find out. I'll bring them back with me, so at least you and Victor won't be the only magic family here. You'll have another woman like us for company. Who knows? It might even be for the best." He met her eyes again. "Let's not assume anything, though. You were sent here as part of a couple. If I had a wife, she'd likely have been sent here with me, too. That tells me I'm probably on my own. Please, try not to worry too much about something that's probably not even true."

She tried to smile, to thank him for his effort to give her comfort, but didn't quite succeed. A wild thought crossed her mind. "Do you think...?"

He seemed to read her mind. "I'd love to have you come with me," he said. "The problem is Victor. I know he's not going to leave his village for that long; and honestly, I can't say I disagree with him. The natives do need somebody to be in charge, or all our progress will disappear, probably sooner rather than later. They'll end up being no better off than they were when we first arrived."

"They seemed to be doing just fine before we showed up," Agatha pointed out.

"They're doing a lot better now," he retorted. "I want to keep the momentum going. What happened to the mission we were sent here to accomplish? You haven't given up on that, have you?"

"Well, no..." she had to admit. The trio still shared a vision, one that had every possibility of coming true if they persevered to the end. She wasn't about to abandon it.

He went on. "If we can get Victor to let you go with me, that would be fantastic. That's probably not going to happen, though. He didn't even like the idea of you coming with me on land. An overseas voyage is going to last a lot longer."

"He doesn't own me. He just thinks he does." She was trying to sound braver than she felt.

"Still, I want his permission. It's best that we all stay on good terms." He didn't tell her what else he was planning to ask: that Victor release his wife from their unhappy marriage so that John would be free to propose.

* * *

><p>South Port was the last stop before the travelers came back to Victor's Village. There, John enlisted the aid of seasoned shipmasters to plan a vessel capable of crossing the sea. They would have it built as soon as possible so that he could sail before Winter. When the plans were finalized and the project begun, it was time for the riders to go home.<p>

Victor was waiting for them, along with the native population. He greeted his colleagues cordially, but with an icy undertone that was impossible to miss. "So, was your trip productive?" he asked, clearly meaning more than the spoken words.

Agatha glanced nervously at her traveling companion, who answered the question as if there were no accusation behind it at all. "Yes," he said, unrolling his parchment map. "We made several new contacts that would be worth the time to follow up on. Look." He showed it to Victor, who barely took any notice of it. "I plan to take another trip soon," he continued. "This one will be even longer."

"She's not going," the other man declared. "You two have been spending too much time together. That's going to stop."

"But Victor...!" Agatha cried, distressed.

He rounded on her. "I said no. I want you here, understand? You have duties. It's time you started attending to them, not going out on some joy ride with John while I'm left to take up the slack. Maybe you two don't mind shirking your responsibilities, but I do."

"That's not fair, Victor," John interjected, stung. "You invited me to go, and you told Agatha she could go with me. You never said anything about feeling put-upon by running things here alone. Why didn't you tell us that you didn't want to do it? I wouldn't have gone if I'd known."

"Wouldn't you?" Victor's suspicions came to the forefront now. "It was your suggestion to take my wife along after I told you I wasn't going. I've seen how you look at her, John, how you take every opportunity to be near her, to touch her..." He took note of Agatha's furious blush, and angrily concluded, "Yes, I think you were just looking for an opportunity to be alone with her. This 'mapping expedition' was nothing more than a convenient excuse."

John struggled to control his rising temper. "We didn't do anything," he insisted. "The expedition was just what I said it was. There was no ulterior motive. I'm still your friend, and Agatha is still faithful to you, even though I'm beginning to wonder if you deserve it. You really should learn to trust us."

"I'll trust you when..." Victor bit back the rest of his rejoinder. That was for his woman's ears only. He forced himself to calm down–no need to air his private business in front of the villagers. In control again, he extended a hand to his comrade. "I've been rude," he apologized. "Welcome back, John. It really is good to see you again."

Surprised, John took the proffered hand and shook it. "Thank you, Victor," he replied. "It's good to be back. Um, sorry about that deserving it crack."

Victor waved it off. "Why don't you tell me about the trip?" he asked smoothly.

Still a little wary, John agreed. "Sure. Could we go somewhere? I need to talk to you, alone. There's something I want to ask..."

They left Agatha happily surrounded by the women and children of the village, telling them of her adventures and showing them the pretty stones that were given to her on the beach.

* * *

><p>She was still chatting with her audience when the two men emerged from Victor's cabin. Her husband came to stand just outside the ring of listeners, obviously waiting for her to finish. John, though, didn't come near. He gave her a long, mournful look, then mounted his horse and rode away to his own town without a word to Agatha. She broke off what she'd been saying, distracted and hurt by his silence.<p>

Victor explained it. "I told him no," he said simply. "I told him to leave, and I don't want you to see him alone ever again. Is that clear?"

She felt an ache beginning in her heart, and resentment toward the man who stood before her. He appeared cool and even faintly pleased, as if he enjoyed his power to keep her love at bay.

He wasn't finished tormenting her. The audience, grown nervous at his nearness, rapidly melted away until he was alone with his wife. He smiled at their discomfiture.

"The village women begin to bore me," he said. "You and they are becoming too used to it. After you left, I found a new way to punish you for your stubbornness. I've just been waiting for your return to show you. Come with me."

Behind their cabin stood a nude marble statue of a woman, a woman with Agatha's face. "I did the face myself," Victor said proudly. A chamber within the statue's belly, hidden behind a door, was just large enough for the rabbit trembling in a crate on the ground by the marble feet. He transferred the doomed animal to its new and final prison.

The marble became flesh, the statue an obscene caricature of the model. Victor caught it before it could run, as the rabbit mind demanded it should. Horrified, Agatha followed them as they moved to the village's central clearing. There, in front of everyone, he forced his creation to the ground and proceeded to use it as a man would use a prostitute.

Agatha couldn't watch. The shame was too great. She fled back to her cabin and refused to come out for the next several hours. When at last she opened the door again, her cheeks stained with her tears, it was to see Victor approaching and a girl following with a bowl of something hot. They entered the cabin. Victor sat at the table, smiling as the girl set the bowl in front of him and left. "Rabbit stew," he informed his wife. He devoured his meal with relish while she stared at him, appalled.


	20. Conquerors

The ship was ready. It was an early morning near the end of Autumn, when most of the broad-leaf trees were bare. The harvest was over and the Winter supplies beginning to fill the storehouses. A chill from the night just past remained in the air, but would soon enough give way to the warmth of the rising sun.

John took a last look around before boarding. South Port had allowed him a minimal crew, a pair of strong lads with experience at sea, and they were waiting on deck for their captain. He had said his good-byes yesterday to his own town and then to the residents of Victor's Village. Here in South Port, here would be the last place he would see in this strange, wild, beautiful land. He sighed. It was time to go.

The sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats made him pause where he was. Out of the gray dawn, a horse and rider appeared on the road from the north. They stopped when they reached the wharf. The rider dismounted and ran to him, throwing her arms around him even while breathless from her haste.

"Agatha! What are you doing here?" John held her tightly despite his unease. Surely, she was risking her husband's wrath by coming on her own.

"I had to see you one last time," she answered when she could speak. "Yesterday, we were all so formal and polite–it was as if we were nothing more than friends and partners. It wasn't enough. I love you, John. I don't want you to go, but if you must, at least let me see you off properly."

With that, she pulled his face toward hers, into a kiss as passionate as that first one on the beach. When at last it ended, her eyes shone with the glimmer of tears. "Please don't leave me," she begged.

He clasped her hands in his, peering at the ground while he searched for the right words. "Agatha," he managed after a time, "I have to. I don't want to." Her hands shook, and he held them tighter. "Even if I stayed, we could never be together. Victor refuses to let you go. That's his right as your husband, but it's torture for me, being so close and yet kept away from you." He searched her face. "Is it any easier for you?"

She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "It's not."

On impulse then, he wrapped her in a sudden, tight embrace. "Come with me," he invited. "Leave Victor. We can go right now; everything is ready. He can't stop us."

He felt her heart racing against his chest. She wanted to join him, he could tell, wanted to with all her heart. He beamed his pleasure...

Until her back stiffened and she drew away from his arms. "I can't," she said, her voice thick with regret. "If I leave with you, I'm afraid of what Victor will do to my people, our people. He can be cruel even when he's not angry. And you're right: he is still my husband, and I still have my duty to him and to the villagers."

"But you're not happy with him."

"Maybe..." She swallowed, then went on. "Maybe life isn't about our happiness, John. Maybe it's about doing the right thing."

"So you're turning me down, then? You're staying here, with a man you don't love, who doesn't love you either?" He was finding the concept nearly incomprehensible.

"You're doing what you believe you have to do," she replied. "So am I."

"You're a stronger person than I am."

"No. I'm just learning to accept the way things are. I'm Victor's wife whether I like it or not. It's time I started to act like it." There was a resoluteness in her words, something that told him she wouldn't be changing her mind. She was becoming resigned to her fate.

"I'll miss you," he said.

That started her crying again. He held her close; and if his own eyes brimmed with tears, who was there to tell?

Finally, when they both had regained a little composure, he let her go. "I have a gift for you," she told him with a brave attempt at a smile. From her bosom she lifted the golden nail pendant, and its mirror image in crystal on its own cord. She gave him the crystal necklace.

He studied it with amazement, and then the golden one she wore. They were mirror images in design as well as shape and size, traced with their opposite elements in an intricate filigree pattern.

"I used the pretty stones you gave me," she explained. "Now we'll both have something to remind us of each other."

"You've never been out of my mind, Agatha. Ever since I first saw you, I've never been able to forget. Thank you, my love. I'll treasure it always." He kissed her one last time, and then they parted, neither of them knowing if they would ever meet again.

* * *

><p>Agatha rode back alone. She let her horse choose its own pace, in no hurry to face her husband's temper. He would have been awake for some time by now, and doubtless have discovered her absence and guessed where she'd gone. He wouldn't like what she'd done, but so be it. She steeled her resolve. She'd promised herself that she would do her best to be a good wife to him. Maybe, in time, she would even grow to love him, as unlikely as that seemed at the moment. Her mind, and her heart, still yearned for one who was gone.<p>

She left her mount on its home isle, in the capable hands of a native trained as a groom. On foot, she made her way back to the village. By now, it was nearly midday.

Victor saw her coming. He waited by the bonfire, cold as a monarch receiving a subject who'd displeased him. When she was near enough, he spoke. "You were with him. After I forbade it."

"I just wanted to say good-bye."

His eyes narrowed. "Is that more defiance I hear?"

"Victor..."

He didn't give her a chance to go on. In two quick strides, he was there in front of her, gripping her shoulders in a painful squeeze, shaking her as he continued his accusations. "You did it, didn't you? You slept with another man. I know you did."

"No! Victor, I never.."

He hit her, hard, across the face. She fell, and he pinned her there on the ground. "Don't lie to me, woman," he growled. "You're mine, do you hear me? _Mine!_ I've had enough of your games. I'm through letting you think you're untouchable. No more substitutes, Agatha. No more."

With a violent yank, he pulled the necklace from around her throat and threw it into the fire. She had no time no protest, for his hands weren't finished with their work. She struggled, she screamed in pain, but it did no good. The villagers were too frightened to intervene, and John was many miles away.

When it was over, Victor rose, his anger sated, replaced by the seeds of doubt and not a little confusion. Agatha lay sobbing where he left her, now curled up and shaking near the dress he'd ripped from her body. He backed away. The village chief's wife took the opportunity to cover the other woman with a blanket, hiding the shame, if not the pain, of what had just happened. Victor retreated to his cabin, for once at a loss for words. His certainty of his wife's unfaithfulness had been severely shaken; as was even the certainty that she was his wife at all. Up until just a few minutes ago, Agatha had been a virgin.

* * *

><p>She knew not how much time had passed before she was able to function again. No one had approached her since the blanket was brought to her. She hugged it to herself and lifted her head to see what else had happened. The sun was low now in the sky. The smell of food, baking bread and fish, filled the air. It made her nauseous. She stared into the depths of the bonfire, where her pendant had been hurled. Slowly, she reached toward the flames, willing them to die, willing the burning wood to cool enough so that she could retrieve her lost treasure.<p>

She found it, or what remained of it. The shell of crystal tracing was intact, but the gold had melted from within, pooling on the ashes below. The cord was long burned away. She gathered the metal in her hand, forcing out the impurities and restoring it to its previous form inside the crystal pattern. She held it close then to her breast with head bowed and eyes closed, and she wept–wept for innocence lost, and for love beyond her reach. She wept for what might have been.

The chief's wife helped her back to the cabin, for she was still unsteady on her feet and trembling more with every step as she neared the man who waited within. At the doorway, she was left on her own.

"Come in, Agatha." His voice was surprisingly gentle. "I won't touch you."

She collapsed on her bed mat against the wall opposite his. She couldn't stop shaking.

"I was wrong," he confessed. He was sitting at the table, slumped over with his hands clenched together in front of him. "Tell me...tell me what you were trying to say earlier. I won't interrupt you this time."

It took some time for her to get the words out, past the sorrow and the terror she still felt. He gave her that time. "He...John...he asked me to go with him," she said at last. "I told him no. I told him...my duty is here, with you and our people, that I would try to be a good wife to you. We...John and I...we never..." She couldn't go on.

"You never slept together," he finished for her. She nodded, once. "I know that now," he said.

"You know that?" she repeated. "But how...?" She thought about it, perplexed, until the realization dawned on her, the same realization to which Victor had earlier arrived.

His right of control was precarious now. To keep her from testing that right, he pressed her decision further. "So you're finally willing to be the wife you should have been since the beginning. Is that right?"

She bowed her head once more. "I'll do whatever you say."

* * *

><p>Victor took immediate advantage of his partner's departure. Curiosity long held in check, but now without restraint, made the village ruler run a final experiment with the latest statue of a bull. "The smarter the subject is, the smarter the ox will be," he told Agatha, "which means it will be easier to train."<p>

His wife was adamant. "No, Victor. We don't use humans, period." She moved to free the little girl he held tightly by the arm, who was crying in pain and fear.

Victor blocked her. "It's only a test, and it will only be for a few minutes," he told her just as firmly. "I'm not going to hurt her."

"John doesn't allow it, and neither do I."

He shook his head. "You both worry too much. Besides, I'm the one in charge here, not you, and certainly not John. By the time he comes back, _if_ he comes back, we'll already have this place civilized. I'm doing this my way, and he won't have anything to say about it." He raised his scepter as a warning against further interference. A few seconds later, he was at the latched door, opening it wide and thrusting the screaming child inside. He locked her in.

Agatha retreated to the huddle of frightened people nearby. The girl's parents clung to her, begging her to free their daughter, but it was already too late.

The animal was alive. As with every earlier trial, it seemed anxious, but this time the eyes moved directly to the villagers, and to a certain distraught pair in particular. "She still knows her parents," Victor marveled. He spoke to the beast. "I am your master. I created you. I own you. You will obey my orders." It blinked at him. He pointed to the far side of the clearing. "Go there," he commanded. The ox gave a heavy sigh and moved to the indicated place. Its owner smiled. He tried a few more simple instructions with similar success before consenting to release the spell that gave his creation life.

Agatha was the first to run to the statue. She flung open the door and reached in to pull out a girl now curled up into a tight, whimpering ball. The girl's mother took her away.

Victor's peer rounded on him, furious. "How could you?" she demanded. "Look what you've done to that poor girl. You had no right to use her like that. Who knows if she'll ever recover?"

He shrugged. "Children are resilient," he replied. "She'll get over it. Anyway, we won't be using our own people; we need them for other things. No, this will be the fate reserved for those from other tribes, the children of those who resist us." Pleased with himself, he continued. "It's a perfect plan, don't you think? Once I've taken their children away from them, and maybe their women for horses too–unless I decide I want them for myself or as spoils for my best warriors–they won't have the heart to rebel. They'll do whatever I tell them.

'As for our own tribe, we get the animals we need, already obedient without us having to train them. We get slaves for the menial tasks so we can become the rulers of a growing empire. It's good to have a god in charge, don't you think?" He noticed her stunned expression. "Er, two gods, I mean."

Agatha gaped at the man she'd called her husband. She tried to speak, but was finding it more difficult than she expected, such was her level of shock. "But Victor," she choked out at last, "what you're talking about, using women and children to make herds of beasts, that's...that's murder. We...we're a peaceful people. You never ...never told us you meant to turn us into conquerors." More fervently than ever, she wished that John had never left.

"Peaceful expansion takes too long," he replied. "You and your paramour have more patience than I do. And it's not murder, because they don't actually die. They just change into something else." He sighed. "Unfortunately, we're not nearly ready to go on the attack. I still have to train my men. We'll need better weapons, tools, maybe armor. First of all, though, I need to get this village in the right frame of mind. We'll hold a meeting tonight at the bonfire."

Agatha stared at him in silent horror. Who are you? she asked, but not aloud. Who are our people? Is this the way we really are, or have we been sent into exile as punishment for whatever you've done before? If you really are my husband, then I'm afraid I've married a monster.


	21. An unexpected master

The sea was a refreshing change from the daily routine of land life. John learned quickly from his crew some of the secrets involved in a maritime profession, so that he was able to contribute more than just encouragement and desalinated water. The ocean breeze was invigorating, the swell of the waves both soothing and excitingly unpredictable. He felt free; it was good to be alive.

By the end of the third week, however, the novelty had mostly worn off. His shipmates were nervous, having sailed further than they ever had before. They were in unfamiliar waters with no end in sight. The days were growing colder, as well, which signaled the approach of Winter and turned the waves into a choppy, steel-gray surface agitating for a storm. They began to search for land, any land where they could take shelter from the wrath they knew was coming.

The sky to the north had turned black and menacing, though the sun was still high behind the gathering clouds. A rumble of thunder warned the sailors of the onrushing threat, though they needed no reminder. The wind picked up along with the action of the water, and the little ship began to heave erratically.

To their credit, the natives didn't panic. Quickly, they lowered the sail and secured it, which helped immediately. The ship was sturdy, and their captain had magic on his side. They looked to him for leadership, their frightened eyes yet trusting in one who was largely a stranger.

John had no idea what to do. He'd never weathered a storm at sea, and he wasn't at all sure he could be of any help to his more experienced comrades. Desperately, he searched the horizon for any sign of land.

The sky had gone dark and full of driving rain when he felt a warmth where it was least expected. He looked down, puzzled. His ring of power was glowing bright green, directing him forward across the teeth of the squall. "Row!" he called to his crew over the blustering wind. "We go straight ahead!" He took the wheel himself.

If they made any progress, it wasn't apparent. The world was simply a wall of blackness punctuated by glimpses of light and more darkness beyond, a wall of water falling from above and every side. From crest to trough, dizzying height to plunging depth, they simply held on and pulled the oars when they could. John held the ship's wheel steady.

At length, the ocean calmed enough for them to make out the path ahead; and it was indeed a path. The clouds had parted, driven back like the sides of a corridor, and the sea between all but invited a vessel's passage. John and his crew wasted no time in accepting.

They rowed until their destination came into view on the horizon. It was a solid mass of rocks and trees, not big but still big enough. "Land!" they all cheered and redoubled their efforts to reach it. As they neared, the storm's fury receded, leaving them in a bubble of gentle surf and pleasant breeze. They dropped anchor just offshore and leapt into the water to wade to land. They were already soaked, after all.

"You did it!" one of the boys gushed at John. "You found safe harbor for us. We knew we'd be all right as long as you were with us."

The older man frowned. "It wasn't me," he informed them. "Someone else brought us here." He studied his ring again. It had to be another like him, one of his own race. His search had borne fruit, but where was it?

His question was answered a moment later. From the shadow of a craggy hill, onto the rocky sliver of beach, stepped a lone figure in a long blue robe. His hair fell in snow white curls, long like John's but with the addition of a full beard and mustache. He was smiling.

"Welcome, fellow sorcerer," the man said, in English. "I'm so glad to finally meet you. My name is Merlin."

* * *

><p>"How did you know we were coming?" John walked with his newfound countryman, partly because Merlin had asked him to do so, but mostly to get his legs accustomed to being on land again. They were climbing to the peak that marked the island's center, hidden from the shore by a curtain of trees, birch and juniper and pine The storm raged still all around them, but here in its midst, all was calm.<p>

"My friend told me," the other replied. He smiled at the befuddlement in John's face and held up his right hand. On it, a steel ring like a miniature dragon crouched with its tail wrapped tightly around its master's finger. The eyes were glowing jade green. "It came to me only a few months ago, at the end of Spring" Merlin continued. "It seemed like an ordinary sorcerer ring at first except for having a mind of its own sometimes. After a couple of weeks, though, it started directing me westward, and the urge didn't go away. I tried to ignore it..."

He bent and picked up a large, squarish stone. "I'm building a castle, you see. It will be the first stone castle in Britain. I'm converting it from an abandoned Roman fort, so I do have most of the raw materials on hand."

"So you don't live here, on the island?"

Merlin laughed and tossed the stone aside. "Goodness, no, John. I have a war to fight. I can't do that if I'm out in the middle of the ocean." He went on to tell his companion of Morgana, his most trusted apprentice, who became his most deadly enemy when he denied her the power she sought. "She's built a training center for recruits," he said. "I need new apprentices to help me fight her, and more sorcerers to help me train others. When the castle is finished, I'll be actively looking for apprentices."

They passed the densest area of forest, and now John could see, through the thinning tree cover, a barren crater filled with the ash and glassy rock of a volcano long gone dormant. Standing in the middle of the crater was a quartet of beasts tethered to the four corners of a litter, a litter under a canopy of blue and gold linen, with matching curtains on the sides. The beasts were, at the moment, lifeless stone.

"My gryphons," Merlin explained. "I borrowed them from the rooftop of the fort." He shrugged. "I thought if Alexander the Great could do it, so could I." He touched the nearest one, and it came to simulated life. The stone eyes fixed on John. Its beak opened in a gentle cry of welcome. Then it assumed its previous position, and its previous inanimate state. Their master nodded, pleased. "They saw you long before I did," he told the younger man. "Eagle eyes, you know. We would have met you on your ship, but it didn't look big enough for us to land safely. Besides, the storm was coming too quickly. I bade them land here to wait for you."

"Thank you," said John. "Thank you for listening to your dragon ring, and for calming the storm enough for me and my crew to reach you."

"You're quite welcome, John. I'm glad I did listen, eventually."

"I was wondering, though..."

"What?"

"Well...my ring was drawing me, too. I assume it was bringing me here to you, because it's not pulling me anymore. Do you have any idea why?"

"No, John, I'm afraid I don't know. I don't even know why my little friend singled you out of all the other sorcerers in the world. There aren't that many of us, and you're the first from this direction. Are there more like you where you came from?"

John averted his face, deliberately looking away from the sorcerer he'd just met. "Two more," he said softly. "A married couple. They didn't feel the same compulsion I did. They chose to stay behind."

"They're your friends, then?"

"Yes. Their names are Victor...and Agatha." Involuntarily, his hand closed around the gold and crystal pendant he wore, holding it as tightly as he wished to hold its crafter.

Merlin saw the motion and guessed its significance. "John and Agatha," he said as if to himself. "Interesting." John spared him a curious glance, but he didn't elaborate. "Well, John," he continued more boisterously, "I think we should get to know each other better. Maybe then, we can make some sense of this circumstance in which we find ourselves. Why don't you start by telling me more about yourself?"

* * *

><p>Four men sat on the beach around a small cooking fire, finishing their dinner of roasted fish and chicken and generous draughts of white wine. The squall had died away, so that the ship was free to sail at its captain's convenience. He let it wait.<p>

"You're probably right," the eldest member of the group agreed. "From what you've told me, it sounds like the three of you were sent into exile there, but you were originally from my part of the world. It's strange that none of you has any memory of your past, though. If that was part of your punishment, then who could have carried it out? Even I don't have that ability: if I wipe out your memory, the rest of your mind is going to go with it."

John was pensive. "Do you really think we're being punished, Merlin? What could we have done to deserve it? Agatha, especially...I can't imagine her doing anything that bad."

"It would have to be dark magic. There's always a price for using dark magic. Perhaps one of you was attempting a new spell and it backfired, affecting the caster as much as his victims. Unfortunately, there's no way to say for sure who the caster was. It also doesn't explain how you all got to the other side of the world, unless that was another effect of the spell. If the hypothesis is correct, I can understand why the Morganian would take the risk of trying it. That's one very powerful spell."

"So you're saying that at least one of us is...evil? A Morganian?" John felt a queasiness in his stomach. He'd been thrust into this new world ill and alone, with a memory even shorter than that of his peers. It stood to reason that he'd been the one who attacked, on whom the backlash fell hardest.

Merlin laid a hand on his shoulder. "Now John," he soothed. "It's only a hypothesis. I personally don't believe you're evil at all. If you like, I can search your mind, see if I can find some trace of your lost memory and even possibly restore it. It's a disconcerting experience for the subject, though, and I won't do it without your permission."

John considered hard. If he were indeed evil, as he suspected, did he really want to have that suspicion confirmed? Did he really want to know about a past filled with dark deeds, a past that would better be left forgotten? Would it change who he was now, the man he'd become since he'd left that past behind?

The master sorcerer saw his trepidation. He waited patiently, sipping his wine and replenishing the others' cups upon request. Then he saw a change in his friend's expression, a new resolution. He'd made his decision.

"I need to know, Merlin," the other said. "Even if I don't like what we find, it's who I am, or was. Help me, please." It was a plea not only for his memory, but for the strength to accept it as well.

"You're a brave man, John. I'll do what I can."

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, Merlin could do very little. He sat back, perplexed, while John recovered from the experience. "Nothing," he said. "It's just not there."<p>

John was still white and shaking, but he managed to ask, "The spell?"

"I don't see how," Merlin confessed. "Even a spell as powerful as our hypothetical new dark magic one must be should still leave at least a scar, some clue as to what happened. There's nothing like that. If your memory is there, it's beyond my reach. The only possibility I see is that you're somehow connected to my future. I can see glimpses of the future sometimes, which is how I got the idea for my castle, but I can't see my own. Your past and my future...they must be intertwined in some way." He gazed at the dragon ring clinging to his hand. "I wish you could tell us what you know, little one," he told it. It just sat there and grinned its steely grin.

"I don't understand," said John. "Do you mean that I did something in my past that will affect your future?"

"I mean that yes, it's a possibility...or more likely, that your past and my future, at least in part, are one. I mean that we may have a shared destiny, you and I. You've already lived it, but it hasn't begun for me. You, and your sorcerer friends, too, may have traveled back in time."

John was stunned. Time travel? It was an astounding idea, but a comforting one as well. Maybe dark magic wasn't involved in his situation at all. Maybe the experimental spell which had gone wrong was this, travel through time. He focused on Merlin. "Have you...are you working on anything to do with this, Merlin?" he wanted to know.

"No," the man responded. "Not yet, at any rate. God only knows what my future holds."

The South Port natives, left out of the conversation since they didn't speak English, were growing bored. John sent them back to the ship for the night; he would stay here on the island with Merlin.

"I can't stay too much longer, either," the master informed John when they were alone. "When Morgana finds out I'm gone, she'll want to take advantage of her opportunity to attack my supporters, my Merlinians."

"I'll go back with you," his fellow sorcerer volunteered. He didn't want to lose his new contact so soon. Merlin was not only his countryman and colleague, but he'd quickly become a friend worthy of utter trust. He was loath to give that up

Merlin, however, rejected the offer. "No, John," he said with a wistful smile. "Much as I'd like to keep you at my side, I'm afraid that's not possible. My gryphons are much swifter than your ship, and my litter is only big enough for one. Your men need you to be their captain; you'll have to stay with them."

"Then we'll follow you."

"Not without training, you won't, and not without your friends, the other couple. If you plan to join me, I want all of you. The four of us are connected. We need to be together if we're going to achieve our full potential."

"But I don't know if they'll come."

"Then you'll just have to give them a good enough reason," Merlin replied. "You've discovered many of your sorcerer abilities on your own, but I can teach you many more. Let me show you what you can do while we're still here on the island, before I have to leave."

"How long do we have?" John's eagerness was apparent. He loved to learn, and he wanted to absorb as much as possible in the time available.

Merlin thought for a moment, then decided, "I can give you a week, no more. The first spell you should learn is the one to keep storm clouds at bay, and the best place to learn it is in what I modestly call...ahem, the Merlin Circle."

* * *

><p>Merlin was a master's master. Often, John found himself simply staring in awe at the sheer power of the man. What was nearly as incredible was discovering that he shared a good many of his teacher's abilities, making him far more capable than he'd ever dared to think. By the end of the week, John was well on his way to becoming a master sorcerer himself.<p>

"So," Merlin said on their final day together, "do you think you'll be able to convince your friends to join us now?"

John smiled with a self-confidence he hadn't felt since he'd entered this world full of strangers. "Well, if I can't do it now, " he replied, "it's not going to happen at all. Yes, I do think I can persuade them to come."

"Good. We'll talk again in one month's time to get an update. Now that you can teach them about Astral Projection, I'd like them to participate in the meeting." They stood on the rocky beach with the waiting ship just offshore, waiting to take its captain back to the west from whence it had come.

Merlin seemed a little sad. "You've been an excellent student, John," he told his new friend. "I'm sorry we have to part so soon. With Winter coming on, it's not likely that I'll see you again for several months, probably not until Spring is well underway."

John bowed his head toward his mentor. "And you've been an excellent tutor, Merlin. Thank you for teaching me. I wish we could both stay longer, but I think you're right. We all have our duties."

"Yes." Merlin was melancholy, remembering the strange connection between the two of them. John's past, his own future... There was a very real possibility that this was the one and only time that they would be together like this, away from war and duty, at a juncture of time and space that might never come again. He sighed. Such were the vagaries of magic. There was a Power at work here infinitely greater than his own, a Power of which he and his ilk were nothing more than servants, despite what his enemies claimed.

"We were both led here," he said to his companion. "I believe there was a reason for that, though I can't say for certain what that reason was. You may find out when you go back."

"If I do," John answered, "I'll let you know when we have our meeting."

"Good. I'll be waiting. Farewell, my friend. It's time for us both to go home."


	22. Lab attack

Classes were set to resume on Tueday at New York University, and Dave still hadn't decided whether he wanted to continue there into his junior year. On the one hand, he was becoming less and less interested in his class work (though not the subjects), and he had no interest at all in his fellow students or campus life. On the other hand, he had to continue in order to keep the lab. This, in the end, was the deciding factor.

"I'm really going to have to come up with some practical use for these Tesla coils," he remarked to his fellow sorcerers. "That's my project for graduation, but I haven't thought of anything yet. Do either of you have any suggestions?"

Chandra shrugged. "Instant battery charger, maybe? Security towers?"

Dave wasn't convinced. "The battery would explode, and the discharges take too much energy to sustain. A determined thief can get past them."

She tried one more idea. "Well, you could always use them for a light show, at a rock concert or science exhibit or something. You just have to make sure they don't accidentally hit the audience."

Dave sneered, and the echoes of Horvath showed clearly. "Entertainment? How...ordinary."

Alvar had a question of his own. "Does it have to be done without magic? You can use them as weapons either way, but a sorcerer can control precisely where they hit, regardless of whether the target is a good conductor." He glanced at Chandra. "Generally speaking, I mean."

"Yeah, I'm afraid so," his student replied. "It has to be something that humans can replicate." He sighed. "Oh, well. I've still got two more years to figure something out." He moved onto one of the Merlin Circle symbols. "Meanwhile, I have more important things to do."

That was when they heard a knock on the steel door above, at street level. "Dave?" a voice called. "Are you in there? Hello? It's me, Becky."

A few months ago, Dave would have forgotten everything he was supposed to be doing in his eagerness to answer. Now, though, he accepted the interruption as if it had been a planned appointment. His self-control was growing along with the skills he'd been taught. "I'll be right there!" he called back. He ascended the stairs at a walk, not a run, and unlocked the door at the top.

She was there in the vestibule, as pretty and innocent as he remembered. With a great smile of gladness, she rushed forward into his arms, into a warm hug of friendship and a kiss of something more. "I've come back, Dave," she informed him. "I told you I would, didn't I?"

He just nodded. She backed away, hurt. "What's wrong, Dave?" she asked. "You seem...colder, somehow. Don't you want me anymore?"

"Of course I do," he said smoothly, and took her hand to lead her down to the lab. "Come with me. We need to talk."

* * *

><p>Becky sat at the kitchen table with Dave and the older pair of sorcerers, listening as they gave her a summary of all that had happened since she left. What she heard did anything but please her.<p>

"I don't like it," she declared. "Balthazar and Veronica are fine, but why do you have to bring back Horvath, too? He's the whole reason we're in this mess."

_We_, thought Dave happily. She's including herself in this. I wish I could tell her how much I appreciate that. Unfortunately, the effects of what he was learning had crept in too far for him to easily throw them off. Emotions must stay in their place, inside. He was happy, but he couldn't, mustn't, show it. That would mean loss of control.

Alvar answered the girl's question. "It's not our choice. The wormhole is going to bring them all back, or none of them. We found that out already. We'll be prepared, though. Dave still has the Grimhold. It will be ready and waiting for Horvath as soon as he comes through."

"Well, okay..." She looked uneasy. Hesitantly, she ventured, "Do we really have to take that chance? I mean, maybe they like it where they are. Maybe they don't want to come back. Couldn't we just leave them? Dave, you only knew Balthazar for a couple of weeks, and Veronica even less than that. How do you know they'd rather not stay where they are?"

It was a valid point, and one to which only Chandra could respond. "I'm sure they've adapted by now, dear, just as I had to do. They could probably live the rest of their lives in the past and be reasonably content. Speaking from experience, though, I can tell you it's maddening, not knowing who you are or anything about your past. There's nobody there to tell you, either. When I was living in exile, I wanted nothing more than to remember. I felt crippled, as if my life could never be complete without that knowledge of myself. Now that I'm back, I consider such an exile the worst punishment anyone could ever endure."

"So that's why you're helping?"

"I'm helping because I don't have a choice. Personally, I'd just as soon they all stay as far away from me as possible, but I'm not allowed to leave until they come back." She tried to sound resentful, but she couldn't convince even herself. The ring on her hand was proof of the growing trust that Alvar placed in her; he only demanded its surrender when he went out and left her at the lab alone. Dave had returned to the penthouse with his belongings, so that only she and Alvar remained.

"That's right," Alvar confirmed. "We're getting close, I think, and none too soon. I'd rather not have Dave go any deeper into dark magic."

Becky looked across the table at her boyfriend. He hadn't spoken much, and his expression hadn't changed at all. "Dave?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. "I can handle things."

She turned back to Alvar. "I think you're right," she agreed. "This isn't the Dave I thought I knew. I want the old Dave back, the one who took me to France for breakfast just on impulse. How much longer will it be, do you think?"

"We'll try again tomorrow night."

* * *

><p>Sunday evening saw an unusual quartet gathered outside the exterior lab door under the Brooklyn Bridge ramp. The eldest, a stern grandmotherly type near retirement age, stood next to a man who appeared to be a generation younger, although he was, in fact, centuries older than she. A college-age couple completed the group. The three sorcerers kept their expressions businesslike, while the only human couldn't conceal her nervousness.<p>

"Are we ready?" Alvar asked his companions.

They nodded their affirmation.

To Dave: "You have the Grimhold?"

The apprentice patted his bulging jacket pocket. "Right here."

Chandra began. Gray fog swirled and formed the round perimeter of a spacious work area. Rumbles of thunder came from within the fog. Soon, the only light came from the fiery orbs that their creator sent to hover all around the circle's edge; that, and a single camp lantern set on the ground next to Becky.

There were no chairs this time, nor any medical equipment. Alvar stood just behind Dave with his hands on either side of the younger man's head. "I'll only prompt you if you need it," he said. "If you want me to stop, just let me know. Let's start by clearing away distractions, so you can focus on the emotions you'll need to amplify."

Dave closed his eyes and nodded once more. He felt his mind sharpening, letting the clouds and cares of everyday life drain away through the cool touch on his temples. There was no happiness, no anger, no hope or frustration. Only grief and terror were permitted to remain. They bubbled like lava in a volcanic pit, rising, rising to the surface. He felt himself resisting, instinctively striving to keep them in check, and he fought the resistance. The cool touch intensified. He welcomed it now, allowed it to break that resistance. The lava erupted in a flash of brilliant light.

He heard a woman's scream, and the hands on his head fell away. He opened his eyes to utter confusion: shouts and running and Chandra lying motionless on the ground. With his concentration lost, the burgeoning object of their summons collapsed. The wormhole disappeared before it had even been able to center on the sorcerers lost in the past.

* * *

><p>In a control room somewhere not too distant, a man in suit and tie, a man of military mien and haircut, stood before three monitors with a radio headset at his ear and a cell phone in his hand. Beside him was a younger man in a wheelchair. He'd recently had a haircut, too, but an observer could still see where the blond dye ended and the dark roots had grown back out. He wore a ring that was softly glowing.<p>

The monitors showed the views from the passenger seats of three trucks. Ten men in SWAT uniforms scurried into position at each location, one of which was the entrance to the dead-end street under a certain bridge ramp. They were preparing for a raid.

The military commander addressed the man at his side. "You're sure the EMP device is inside?"

"Of course I'm sure," Drake replied impatiently. "I was in there. I saw it."

Team one was closing in on the steel lab door when it opened from within. Immediately, they melted back out of sight: this wasn't part of the assault plan. They watched and waited from the shadows.

Four people emerged, two men and two women. They moved into what seemed to be prearranged positions, and the older woman waved her hands in a mysterious pattern. Drake watched, fascinated, as the screen grew dark. The commander spoke into his phone: "Switch to night vision, team one." The suspects' forms became clear once again as heat signatures against a black background.

Then the monitor went blank in a burst of blinding white light. Even those in the control room had to cover their eyes. Through the phone, they could hear curses from the team as their goggles were overwhelmed.

"A nuclear blast?" the commander wondered aloud. "That's impossible." Nevertheless, the flash resembled nothing so much as a nuclear detonation. "Stop them," he ordered his men, though he could neither see nor hear them anymore. "Now!"

A frontal assault, particularly one in which the quarry had easy access to an escape route, was _not_ standard procedure. The more practical means to deal with a situation such as this was to use snipers–four shots, four dead targets. Team one didn't use those means, but only because they had orders to take the suspects alive if at all possible. Drake had plans for his fellow sorcerers.

Unfortunately, the suspects didn't know that. The sounds of shouting and running feet were heard over the phone, and silhouettes darted across the blank white monitor. An explosion erupted from the ground; then the observers clearly heard shots being fired. A woman cried out briefly. Then the light abruptly faded, and those who watched were left to blink at the sudden relative darkness.

Drake stared in horror. His old master lay on the ground unmoving while blood poured from bullet wounds that he couldn't see from this distance. He turned to the commander. "You idiot!" he chastised. "I told you I wanted her alive!" Now that deadly force had been initiated, all previous orders were nullified. The teams were free to kill.

Meanwhile, the other three targets had taken shelter behind an invisible shield that only Drake recognized as a sorcerer's protection. The lab door was guarded now by more SWAT members, and the entire team was closing in on the trio. The bearded man flung them all aside with a blast of air that sent them tumbling back, uncomprehending, into an untidy heap. The lab door opened for the fleeing fugitives and closed solidly behind them.

Drake sat back in his wheelchair. The plans were in place, the orders given. He had only to wait.

* * *

><p>Inside the lab entrance, Dave let his shield dematerialize. He pulled Becky with him across the short vestibule to the interior door, the one beyond which lay the iron staircase leading down into the lab. Alvar stayed behind just long enough to quickly weld both doors shut, then joined the younger pair in the middle of the cobblestone floor. "That should buy us a minute or two," he said. "We'll need to find another way out, though."<p>

"Who are they?" Becky asked plaintively. "What do they want? Why are they attacking us?"

Nobody knew the answers. "I don't know," Alvar admitted. "They got Chandra, though. We have to get her back if she's still alive. We need her."

They didn't have any more time for discussion. From both ends of the lab, where the subway rails could still be seen embedded in the floor, simultaneous explosions blew the walls away. Armed men in black uniforms and helmets rushed in and spread out, firing as they moved. Above, the steel door and its frame fell inward with a crash. Team one came in low and fast, with carefully lobbed grenades to clear the way ahead.

The trio was surrounded. The sorcerers assumed a back-to-back stance with Becky in between. The shield was back, generated by both men in partnership, now in a dome shape that deflected every shot fired at it. A grenade was hurled from one of the walkways. It detonated at the dome's peak with a blast that shook the unseen shield and temporarily deafened the three underneath. More missiles were aimed at the various equipment in the lab.

Dave saw his work go up in smoke. Everything he'd been building for the last two years–his coils, his control cage, even the grounded grid–was destroyed in a matter of seconds. Then the belongings in the two bedroom alcoves were targeted for confiscation, particularly Alvar's specially shielded computer.

Cold fury took over. Dave wasn't frightened anymore; his recent training gave him enough control to keep his fears at bay. Calmly, he opened a hole in the shield before him, a hole that only he could see. Both arms stretched ahead, his hands meeting at the wrists and opening out like the wings of a butterfly. A stream–no, a torrent–of fire flowed forth. It sought out and enveloped each attacker, thirty strong burning in spite of their flame-retardant clothing. The attack stopped amid their tortured screams.

Alvar let the dome shield collapse. Dave just stood where he was, a sinister smile on his face as if he was enjoying the sight of men dying at his command. "Dave!" the master shouted as he enclosed each victim in a vacuum bubble just long enough to extinguish the flames. "Stop this! Help me put out the fire!" He was working as quickly as he could, but it wasn't fast enough.

Becky saw the smile, too, and it frightened her more than the shooting and explosions ever could. She shook him. "Dave," she pleaded. "Come back. Don't let the evil control you. You're not a murderer. Help us, Dave, please."

Slowly, awareness dawned in his eyes, and horror at what he'd just done. Without further delay, he aided his teacher in his task. Together, they put out the remainder of the fires.

A few victims were still conscious, moaning in pain amid the charred bodies of their teammates. Alvar tended to them all as best he could, with Becky serving as assistant and Dave sitting numbly on one of the steps leading up to the kitchen area. The smell of burned flesh filled the air.

"Reinforcements will be coming soon," Alvar told them. "We have to go, and just hope these men will get proper care before it's too late. I've done everything I can for them." He gathered the younger couple, and they hurried out through the opening recently made in one wall.

They were fugitives now, possibly even murderers, and they didn't even know the reason. Chandra was lost to them, as well. The three who were left fled into the night, as lost as any of their sorcerer peers.


	23. Wounded warrior

They dared to make a quick stop at the penthouse, in disguise of course. There were no obvious signs that they were being watched, but they were under no illusions that such was not the case. Dave and Becky, in the guise of an elderly black couple, took the elevator up partway, then got off and ascended the rest of the way by staircase as themselves. A disguise would be pointless now, since their destination had become obvious. Alvar stayed behind in the lobby to stand guard.

Four security officers were waiting for the couple when they emerged on the top floor of the building, two near the elevator and two at the staircase door. They stepped out of concealment as soon as the pair approached the penthouse, guns drawn and radios active.

"We've got them," the senior officer said into his handset. "Two of them, anyway." He pointed his weapon at Dave. "Hands up, both of you," he ordered. "We're taking you in on suspicion of terrorist activity."

"What?" Dave couldn't believe it. "We weren't doing anything illegal! I'm a physics student, a scientist, not a terrorist!"

"Tell it to the judge."

Stunned, Dave allowed the men to handcuff both him and Becky, update his superiors at the other end of the radio, and herd them all toward the elevator. They were innocent, he knew; they shouldn't have anything to fear from the authorities. This whole thing had to be a massive misunderstanding. They would have to let him go once they discovered no evidence of wrongdoing...

Except that he'd used an unknown weapon to fell thirty of their number. How could he explain that, and a shield impervious to attack? No, he couldn't afford to let himself be arrested. And Becky, she was simply an observer. She shouldn't be subjected to this punishment she didn't deserve. He made his decision.

* * *

><p>The elevator door opened, waited for passengers who never boarded, and closed again. On the floor outside the penthouse, four security personnel lay fast asleep, bound in two pairs by the very handcuffs they'd used against the suspects The senior officer's double spoke into the radio he'd taken from the sleeping original. "We'll be down in a few minutes. One of my men needs to use the bathroom. There's no problem here." The double morphed into Dave, whose prowess in lying hadn't improved much at all.<p>

"Come on," he instructed his comrade. "Let's get what we came for and get out of here." Quickly, the pair entered the Prime Merlinian's quarters. He headed for his bedroom, but called back to Becky, "Grab some things from the other room, clothes and stuff, for you and Alvar. There's a bag in the closet. I'm sure Balthazar and Veronica won't mind letting you borrow whatever you want." Without Chandra, the sorcerer pair would never come back anyway.

He stuffed his own suitcase indiscriminately with clothes and toiletries. Into its companion piece, a shoulder bag, he shoved the more valuable items: the Grimhold from his jacket pocket, his Encantus, and all the money he had.

He met Becky back in the living room. She was similarly equipped, except that her shoulder bag was filled with the junk food that Dave lived on when he wasn't at the lab. Some habits were too hard to break. "It's not very nutritious," the girl complained, "but it's pretty much all you have that isn't refrigerated."

He should have felt guilty about that, but they were in too much of a hurry. "We can buy more later," he said. "Let's go." They left the penthouse behind without knowing if they would ever return. The moon shone through the stained-glass door onto the Merlin Circle rug, custom alterations that might never be appreciated again.

* * *

><p>In the lobby, Alvar waited impatiently. He'd already dispatched the first and second wave of reinforcements, but the third would likely be too large for him to handle alone. Police cars surrounded the X5, their lights flashing in a sea of red and blue. The officers who'd been sent in to evacuate the building hadn't made it past the lobby guardian. Their bodies were standing stiffly upright in front of every door and window in the room to deter sniper and less specific attack from outside. Their eyes stared straight ahead as if entranced; for indeed entranced they were.<p>

Bullhorns instructed the building residents to stay in their rooms with their doors locked until they could be safely escorted out. Alvar grimaced, annoyed. It was the middle of the night; most of the occupants could have stayed blissfully asleep and unaware of anything amiss if not for this unnecessary siege. The police were creating panic for no reason.

Dimly, he heard the distinctive sound of a helicopter hovering overhead. There would be combat units descending from the craft onto the penthouse balcony, he had no doubt. Come on, Dave, he silently urged. Hurry up. This nonsense is getting out of hand.

As if on cue, the elevator door opened, and Dave and Becky rushed out with their luggage. The Merlinian took one look at the barricaded lobby, then to the man who awaited them. "What now, Alvar?" he asked. "How are we going to get out of here without being seen?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the former Morganian replied. "We're not. Oh, and leave your cell phones here, so they can't be used to track us."

A minute later, three police officers emerged from the rear of the building, each with a prisoner he forced to march before him. They were soon the hub of an excited circle, moving with the procession to a prison truck with rear doors open wide. The eldest arresting officer did the talking, answering the many questions thrown at them and warning the crowd away. They thrust their captives inside the waiting truck, where the three fell ungracefully onto the floor, unable to catch themselves since their hands were cuffed behind their backs. None of them spoke a word. The doors slammed shut.

"They left their bags inside," the eldest officer informed his colleagues. "We'll go get them. There's gotta be some evidence there the courts can use. Be right back."

When the trio came out again, it was by the front door, bags in hand. Most of the police were in back now with the truck, and that was where the attention of all was focused. The three who had made the capture ignored the big SUV and the vehicles that penned it in. Instead, they walked to the car furthest from the building, tossed their bags into the back seat, and climbed in. The car pulled away without much notice at all.

It didn't stay a police car. As soon as the gathering was out of sight, a hand reached out of the passenger window and rested on the roof. The vehicle became a gleaming limousine, complete with tinted windows and Diplomatic license plates. It sped up considerably then in its haste to leave Manhattan, and no one had authority to stop it.

* * *

><p>Chandra woke, numb. The room lights were dimmed, but she could tell immediately that she was in a private hospital room. Tubes from above and behind her disappeared under the bandages on her immobilized right arm. A male nurse stood by her left side, holding the patient's wrist in one hand and peering closely at his watch until the required time had elapsed. He recorded the results and replaced the clipboard at the foot at the hospital bed, beside the manual blood pressure monitor tucked in there.<p>

The nurse saw his patient's eyes open. "Ah, you're awake," he observed. "Don't worry; you're going to be fine. Hang on a minute. There's someone outside who wants to talk to you." He moved to the door, opened it, and beckoned to the unseen person who'd been waiting.

Drake Stone entered in his power wheelchair. As he passed the nurse, he gave instructions: "Wait outside for me. Close the door as you leave." The nurse obliged without resistance.

The chair's battery died when Drake reached the patient's bedside. Rather than being an annoyance, though, the failure seemed to please the younger sorcerer. "Good," he remarked to his former master. "You're still intact."

She wanted to scream at him, rebuke him for his lack of concern, but she was having difficulty even forming words, much less chastising her visitor. Her tongue felt like a swollen dead weight in her mouth. After a few unintelligible attempts at speech, she finally managed one word; "Intact?"

He nodded, apparently oblivious to her irritation with him. "Yeah. At first, I thought they'd killed you. I was furious. Turns out, though, they actually did follow orders. They got you in the shoulder and leg–serious, but not fatal, lucky for them."

Now Chandra was really confused. 'They'? She still didn't know who the attackers were or why they'd been sent on their mission, but apparently Drake was responsible for it all.

Her bewilderment must have showed in her face, for her one-time apprentice continued. As he went on, she detected a change in him that was more than just physical. Drake had matured greatly since she'd last seen him less than six months ago, but there was a new darkness in him that made her uneasy. No longer simply a self-absorbed showman, he had become a bitter, dangerous Morganian bent on revenge.

"Last thing I remember," he told her, "we were all down in the cistern fighting the Merlinians. The kid knocked me out–woke up in the hospital, just like you. Seems the roof fell in. They found Abigail under a pile of stones at the bottom of the lake. As for me..." He slapped his thigh angrily. "Crushed. My career is finished." Even a sorcerer wasn't immune to disease or injury, unless he had the healing gift; and there was no sorcerer alive who had it, so far as anyone knew.

"I told the Feds that we–Abigail and me–had been kidnapped for ransom. The terrorists needed money. They set up a booby trap in case someone tried to rescue us without paying, but they botched the job. It went off by itself.

'I told them it was the kid and his buddies who did it, that they planned to shut down the city with an EMP. The Feds had you guys at the lab under surveillance for months. By the way, who's the dude with the beard? There's no record of him anywhere." He didn't wait for her reply, but continued his narrative without pause. "Anyway, they were going to give it up as bad info–which would reflect really badly on me, by the way–so I took control of one of the bigwigs. I had him send in the SWAT teams."

Chandra listened, fascinated. This was a complex plan that Drake had devised, one that she had thought him incapable of imagining. What was its purpose? she wondered. "Why?" she asked.

His face hardened. "Maxim Horvath." It was an entirely unhelpful answer, he saw, but he was happy to further explain. "He set me up, again. You know I didn't want anything more to do with him after that little Parasite trick he pulled on me. We just went along with him because he was too strong to fight. Well, I learned. I thought if I could steal the Merlinians' power the same way Horvath stole mine, I could be just as powerful as him. With their added power, especially the kid's power, I could blow that wretched S.O.B. to smithereens, _and_ get my original ring back. That's why I wanted the Merlinians alive.

'I didn't expect you to be there with them, but I'm kinda glad you were. I figured you could help me once I got you away from them. You could distract them until I got close enough to use the Spell." He didn't tell her the rest: that if she had changed allegiances, she would be his first target. He had yet to find out where her loyalties now lay.

She gave no clue either way, not only because she was wary of him, but because she herself didn't know. For now, she thought it prudent to play along. She yawned deliberately and let her eyelids droop in not altogether feigned weariness.

Drake got the hint. "All right," he allowed. "We can talk more later, after you've rested." He backed his wheelchair away from the bed until the battery purred to life again. "Just so you know," he added just before he left, "I have your ring. They took it off when they were prepping you for surgery. I'm keeping it for you until you're ready to leave."

Inwardly, the sorcerer woman sighed. She was all too used to living as a normal human being.

* * *

><p>The following day saw some improvement. The Morganians filled each other in on the events that had transpired since they'd been together last, at the site of their fateful battle. Chandra was careful to keep hidden from her apprentice her willingness to cooperate with the enemy, and she had no doubt that he wasn't telling her everything, either.<p>

"So Blake is still alive, then?" Drake seemed disappointed. "I thought your spell got rid of him. I thought that was why he never came back to the lab or their condo."

"We believe they're all still alive, yes. They're gone, though; and without me, they're going to stay gone. That includes Maxim Horvath. Thanks to you rescuing me, Drake, we're free of them all now. They're not going to come back."

He nodded. "Yeah." The disappointment was still there, mixed with just a touch of anxiety. He'd been counting on finding Horvath alone or with the woman he claimed as his own. Blake was supposed to be dead. Now, discovering this new information, he had to adjust his plans accordingly. The three ancient sorcerers, if they somehow found their way back, would come together. Drake wasn't ready to fight all three of them at once; even Morgana hadn't been able to defeat them when the trio worked together. He wanted revenge, but he wanted security more. No, it was safer now to leave them in the past. He wouldn't be completely comfortable until the threat of their return was eliminated. The easiest way to accomplish that was to eliminate one of the necessary agents: his master Chandra. He wasn't quite ready to take that step, not yet.

Chandra changed the subject. "Where are the others, the Merlinians who were keeping me as a prisoner?" She tried not to sound worried about their fate.

Drake wasn't happy discussing that topic, either. "They got away," he admitted. "I haven't heard a word about where they could have gone. Once the Feds got done sorting through the lab mess and figured out there was no weapon, they apologized to the school and paid to replace all the stuff they broke." He smiled then. "The commander, the dude I was controlling to carry out the raid, got sacked. He has no idea that I was even involved."

"Then the Merlinians are cleared, right? They can come back whenever they want?"

"Um, not exactly," her student said. "There's still the issue of what happened during the fight. A couple of the SWAT guys nearly bought it. Yeah, the Merlinians are still in trouble if they show their faces again. It's been almost a week now, and nobody's tried to get back in the lab or the penthouse. I'm wondering if maybe they've set up headquarters somewhere else."

"A week? I've been unconscious for almost a week?" Perhaps her injuries were more serious than she'd thought.

Drake explained. "They had to induce a coma so their machines would work in the O.R–my suggestion, of course. When they tried to bring you back up later, it didn't work. I guess you just weren't ready."

Oh. Chandra tucked the information away in her head. Apparently, her electric disruption ability depended on brain activity. She wondered if she could somehow find a way to control it, but that was a project for another day.

* * *

><p>The limousine kept going after it crossed state lines into New Jersey. It changed again, this time into a nondescript Subaru Outback. "Where to now?" asked the man behind the wheel.<p>

"I don't know," Dave answered from the passenger side. He twisted in his seat to look back at Becky. "How are you doing back there, Becky?"

She seemed a bit lost, caught up in an unwanted, confusing adventure. "Okay, I guess," she told him. "I wish I knew what was going on."

"Yeah, me too." After a brief pause, he dared to ask, "We need some place to stay for a while. Do you think...um, would your parents mind...?"

"Yes, they would definitely mind." Becky was absolutely certain of that. "I went there to get away from all this magic craziness. We are _not_ going to drag my folks into it, period."

Dave's shoulders slumped. "All right. Just thought I'd ask." Then, to Alvar: "I guess we'll just have to find a hotel. I don't want to go to my mom's house, either."

The driver shook his head. "Too risky. They'll be looking for us. We can't stay in disguise the whole time; it doesn't take a lot of energy to maintain, but it does take its toll after a while."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Let's find ourselves a campground. There should be plenty of spaces available, now that school has started again." This time, it was he who laid his open palm on the roof of the vehicle. A newly-formed Winnebago Tour cruised down the New Jersey turnpike in search of a suitable place to park.

* * *

><p>Becky had the king-size bed to herself, while her fellow travelers used the twin sofa beds in the main room of the big RV. They slept long into the day, not waking until the afternoon was nearly spent. When Becky emerged from the bathroom, blonde hair still wet from the shower and wearing one of Veronica's new dresses, she found the men already up and about. Dave was listening to the radio while he sat at the dining room table, morosely sipping coffee and ignoring the junk food spread out on the table in front of him. Alvar waved her over.<p>

"Good morning, or whatever." he said. "I'm afraid we don't have much to offer in the way of food, but you're welcome to anything you want. There's a little store on the grounds; I'll be doing some shopping there in a bit."

"Thanks." She chose a granola bar and sat down next to Dave. "Any news?" she inquired of him.

"None." He didn't look at her. "I guess they're trying to keep a lid on things." They listened for a few more minutes, then he got up to turn the radio off. "I'm sorry," he said in the ensuing silence. "Tomorrow was supposed to be our first day back at school. Looks like I kinda ruined that, eh?"

Becky joined him again. "It's okay, Dave," she assured him. "What happened...we still don't know why they think we're terrorists. None of us did anything wrong. We need to find out what's going on. Who set us up, and why?"

Dave wasn't ready to let himself be comforted. "I may have killed those people, Becky. I attacked them when I didn't need to. We could have held out behind the shield, but I wanted to hurt them for destroying my lab. I wanted to kill." He hung his head, ashamed.

She wrapped her arms around him until he responded in kind. They held each other without speaking, their only anchor in a sea of confusion.

Alvar quietly interjected, "It's the dark magic." Sounding sad but resigned, he continued. "The good news is, we won't need to use it, or even learn it, any more. Chandra is gone, and without her, we have no hope of bringing back our friends. They're on their own now, and so are we. We have no choice but to accept it. They're never coming home."


	24. Invitation

John found his new knowledge useful even before the ship returned to South Port. Winter was announcing its arrival by rough seas and the first snowfall of the season. Even with his training and an experienced crew, a safe journey back was far from assured. All three men were more than a little relieved to set foot on land once again.

The village had changed. Buildings had sprouted where none had been before, and the footpaths had been upgraded to stone-paved roads or gravel walkways. Various new animals made their presence known, from chickens to goats to pigs, in addition to those already introduced before John had set sail from these shores. There were also more people, mostly men.

A stout little man marched to the pier to meet the returning voyagers. He greeted his countrymen by name, then shouted, "Welcome, friend John! Welcome back to South Port! How do you like what we've done since you left?" He beamed with pride in all that had been accomplished.

John was amazed, and he said so. "This is incredible, Balu. How did you manage it in such a short time?"

The man's smile disappeared. "We had help," he admitted. "The emperor brought in some more men. Our chief, he didn't want to submit, so the emperor had him banished–would have been an execution if the empress hadn't stepped in."

Uh-oh. This didn't sound good. "Emperor?" asked John with a touch of dread. And where had the extra men come from?

Balu nodded. "Emperor Victor," he confirmed. "He put me in charge here since the old chief was sent away. He wants to make sure he has people who are loyal to him, somebody to keep the citizens and the slaves in line."

"Slaves?" This was even worse than he'd thought. Victor, he protested in his mind, what have you done? Progress is good, but this is taking things too far. He wondered what Victor's own village looked like now, or John's Town. He also wondered about Agatha. He needed to talk to his fellow sorcerers, find out what had happened in the two months he'd been away. He had much to tell them, as well. "I'll need to borrow a horse, please," he requested of the emperor's vassal. "I'm sorry I can't stay, but I have an important message that can't wait, a message for..." It was hard to accept, hard to say... "the emperor."

* * *

><p>Victor's Village was even more advanced than South Port. A great, two-story longhouse had been built a short distance beyond the birchbark wigwams around the central clearing. The storeroom half of the meeting hall was expanded, and the rulers' cabin was closer in size and refinement to an actual house. Instead of a bonfire in the clearing, a fire pit had been dug, with stone ovens and iron tools around it, alternated with lanterns hanging from tall posts for light. Other new buildings were scattered as needed, some still under construction. John recognized a saw mill at the edge of the forest, a wood shop nearby for carpenters, an ox-powered mill to grind grain, and a tannery that also stocked furs and cloth. An aqueduct had been started to bring in fresh water, but the stone structure would take many more months to complete. Like the previous settlement, the Village had imported laborers from foreign tribes, men who worked as prisoners, with no hope of any better future.<p>

"Where are Victor and Agatha?" John asked of the shaman chief. The poor man's spirit had been broken long ago, so that he served as nothing more than a figurehead for the true power that ruled over his people. He did what he was told, and that was good enough for the emperor.

The chief looked up at the visitor on horseback. He tried to smile in welcome, but the effort failed miserably. He just pointed east. "Equus," he said simply.

Equus was the name given to the northern island off the coast, the one where the horses were kept. John thanked the chief and left the sad, busy village behind.

* * *

><p>The herd was substantially larger than he remembered. Most of the additions were mares that gazed at him with the same air of hopelessness that he'd seen in the village slaves. Troubled, he rode past them to the eastern edge of the island.<p>

Another building was there, an unfinished project made of stone that was larger than any he'd seen, even the longhouse. It was a hub of activity, with masons, carpenters, and smiths all working diligently under the watchful eyes of their supervisors, who reported to their master in turn. Victor was the ultimate director.

Away from the men, a lone woman stood facing the building. She was clad in a dress of deep red layered over ivory, with a braided headband and matching belt festooned with strings of shells. As she moved her hands, large blocks made ready by the masons rose at her direction. They settled into their proper places on the walls. At this rate, the structure should be ready for a roof before another month passed.

John dismounted and walked the remaining distance to the site. No one noticed him until he stood nearly by his colleague's side. "Hello, Victor," he said.

Victor jumped, startled. "John! You're back! When did you get back?"

John couldn't tell if his friend was glad to see him or not. He did see Agatha turn at the disturbance, and a look of utter devastation cross her face. He longed to go to her, to hold her and give her comfort, but he held back. That was her husband's place, not his.

He tore his eyes away from her and back to Victor. "Just a few hours ago," he replied. "What's this I hear about slaves, and you being an emperor? What happened?"

"Um, yes." Now the other man looked uncomfortable, as if he knew he'd done something beyond his authority. "Well, you see, a war broke out between tribes, and I had to consolidate our network to fight off the threat. Slaves have always been booty taken in war, so this is nothing unprecedented. At least we spared their lives."

"Did you?" John practically accused. "I saw the men, but where are the women and children? Did you just leave them, or were they casualties of war?"

Victor conceded, "You might say the latter. We did manage to claim a few women–you'll see them with the warriors and town leaders–but most of them were killed by their own men, rather than allow them to be captured. They're nothing but savages." He shook his head. "As for me being named emperor, I was the leader who brought our people victory. The network acknowledged me as their head, so they take orders from me now. You can see how well it's worked out, too." He waved proudly at the construction site. "This will be Fort Agatha when it's finished."

"Ah." John was noncommittal. Victor wasn't being completely honest, he could tell, but he didn't want to provoke the man to anger by expressing his doubts. They hadn't parted on the best of terms–cordial, but not especially friendly–and he needed to improve them if he hoped to persuade his peers to sail with him come Spring.

Agatha joined the pair. "Welcome back, John," she said in a carefully neutral voice. She refused to meet his eyes, but he saw around her neck a cord, drooping down to hide beneath her bodice the pendant that she must have been wearing. He wore his still, and he saw that she noticed it there. It seemed to give her a small degree of pleasure.

"Could we go somewhere?" he requested of them both. "Sit down, have something to eat? I haven't had anything since breakfast on the ship this morning."

Victor gave him a forced smile. "Of course. I'm sure you'll want to know all the details of these last couple of months, and we'd love to hear what you've been doing, too."

"Oh yes. I do have a tale to tell."

* * *

><p>"No, John. I told you before, I can't afford to leave for very long." Victor was tempted, but not enough to give up the reins of power. His empire was growing steadily, and he was thoroughly enjoying his role as absolute monarch.<p>

His colleague finished his drink and set the empty cup on the table before him. "It wouldn't be right away, Victor," he replied. "We can't sail again until Winter is over. By that time, all the systems and infrastructure will have been in place long enough so the natives will have grown used to them. They'll be able to run things themselves without supervision, if that's what they want. If not, if they'd rather go back to the old ways they had before we came, well, that's their prerogative. They're not our people, after all."

Victor disagreed. "They're mine now. They depend on me to tell them what to do and how to do it. They'd fall into chaos without me. All our progress will have been for nothing if I leave." He took in both of his dinner companions with a direct gaze. "We had a vision, or have you both forgotten? Doesn't that vision mean anything to you anymore?"

Agatha looked down a little guiltily. She'd been eager to accept John's offer to sail away in just a few short months. Since her submission to her husband, the villagers had begun to keep their distance from her, not because of the powers she shared with the ruler they feared, but from knowing that she was subject to him as much as they were. The woman dubbed "empress" was a virtual pariah.

It didn't help that Victor stayed away from her, as well. After that first terrible day when he forcibly declared his ownership, his demands of her grew less and less frequent, until he stopped calling her to his bed altogether. He seemed to regret the fear he'd caused in her, the fear she still had whenever he touched her, when her body tensed and trembled even as she remained determined to obey him. He grew more considerate of his wife, eventually starting to show some respect for her, and even a hint of affection. Still, he was growing more toward friendship than toward the love desired of a husband. Agatha didn't know what to make of it.

John answered thoughtfully. "The vision... Yes, I do think it's a worthy one, even though I don't like some of your methods, Victor. I have to insist that you stop those. We don't need to use slave labor, and the tribal chiefs should be allowed to run their own villages. Willing cooperation is always better than force, in the long run."

Victor shrugged. "I'll think about it."

"Will you? Seriously? I'll teach you what Merlin taught me, but only if we're all in agreement."

The other man was silent for a minute, visibly mulling over his thoughts. Apparently, then, he came to a decision. "A little at a time, John," he said. "I'm not going to dismantle everything I've built up since you left, but I will agree to some concessions. Let me see what I can come up with, all right?"

"Good enough." John smiled then, and his comrades echoed the expression. They joined hands in fellowship for the first time since the vision was conceived.

* * *

><p>Agatha rode beside the traveler on their way to John's Town, both holding torches to light the road in the deepening darkness of sunset.<p>

"I'm surprised Victor let you come with me," John commented. "He didn't even seem upset that you'll be spending the night away from him."

She responded quietly, "He knows now that he can trust me."

John frowned. The way she spoke, the tone and undertone, told him that something important had happened in his absence, something that wasn't good. Hesitantly, he asked, "Agatha, how...if you don't mind telling me...how does he know? I mean, if you'd rather keep it private, I understand, but..." He broke off, feeling awkward and boorishly intrusive. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

She smiled across the short distance between their two horses, "It's all right, John. Everyone else in the village knows, at least the first part. I'll tell you when we get to your cabin."

* * *

><p>"I'll kill him." He didn't shout; he didn't have to. Those three little words, spoken with cold deliberation, were enough. John had the will and the tactical advantage to turn the threat into a simple declaration of fact.<p>

Agatha, sitting beside him on the iron-framed bed, leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt the comforting support of his arm around her back, the squeeze of his hand keeping her close to his side. "No, John," she murmured. "I've already forgiven him, and I told him so. I think he's sorry for what he did."

"Then you're a stronger person than I am."

She smiled, remembering those same words uttered on the pier beside the ship that waited to set sail. "No," she responded again. "I've just accepted the way things are."

"But you said it was your first time. Maybe the way things are...maybe that's not the way they were meant to be. You could have been mine, Agatha. We could have been..."

"It's too late now. What's done is done."

"But what if he's not your husband?"

"I've accepted that he is, or at least he is now. I won't leave him unless he sees fit to release me."

"I love you, Agatha. Can you truly tell me you don't love me, too?"

She didn't look up from his shoulder, nor did she reply. Instead, she reached under the neckline of her dress and pulled out the gold-and-crystal pendant on its cord. He held out its complement, and she clasped his hand in hers. The jewelry between their palms grew warm. A golden glow enveloped the joined hands, a glow that expanded and became an orb of purest white. Then it shrank until it disappeared inside the shell of flesh. Agatha released her partner's hand, and both held in their open palms a new creation. Instead of a modified nail, each pendant had become a ring, identical except for width, of gold inlaid with diamonds. Then, and only then, did the woman raise her eyes to those of her beloved. "You have my heart," she confirmed. "If I'm ever free, and you still want me, I'll gladly be yours forever. Let these rings be tokens of our union." She tucked her new ornament back under her dress. "Until then, I belong to another."

John stared at his ring of promise, his thoughts in turmoil. How could he work with a man who'd hurt Agatha, who'd abused his sorcerer powers to hurt a people who'd never done him harm, who was obviously eager to gain even more power through the teachings of Merlin? Victor's attitude was a problem, certainly. Agatha was dealing with it, and it was incumbent upon John to deal with it, as well. The three of them were supposed to be friends and partners, John had to remind himself again and again. It was going to be a long winter.

* * *

><p>Snow impeded not just travel between towns, but building within them as well. Progress came to a virtual standstill. Under pressure from John, and to relieve the burden of maintaining an idle work force, Victor allowed the male slaves to depart in peace, except for those he needed to complete Fort Agatha. The sorcerer trio moved into the portion of the structure that was already finished, from whence they daily lent their considerable assistance. The fort became their castle. During the day, it was a hub of building activity, with the emphasis on getting the roof done so that interior work could continue on the upper levels. In the evenings, on the finished ground floor, John passed on what he had learned on the island to his colleagues–a little at a time, at the same pace that Victor upheld his end of the agreement.<p>

It was early Spring when John again reminded them of Merlin's invitation to join him. By now, the fort was complete, and every male slave freed. The captive women were denied that boon, for they now carried their masters' children; thus, they were considered part of the conquering tribe, subject to execution if they returned to their own people. As travel and communications had been difficult over the past months, the network had weakened to the point where each village was largely autonomous once more. Victor had to be satisfied with directly controlling only his own.

"We're going to have to do something about these obstructions," he complained. "I think we should consolidate our three main towns, move everybody here once it gets warm enough. We need the people. We still have the longhouse slave quarters, so they won't have to build new homes. Yes, it will be ten miles further away from the mines, but that's still workable."

"Have you forgotten?" asked John. "We have a new home of our own, waiting across the ocean for us. What I learned, what I taught you, was only a taste of what we could accomplish under Merlin's tutelage. Don't you want to know more?"

"I know enough. I didn't build Fort Agatha, or the rest of my village, just to abandon it."

"Fair enough," John conceded. "How about a visit then, just for a few months? Leave a deputy in charge, like Balu from South Port. You can come back five times as powerful as when you left."

"Why are you so eager for me to go, John?" Victor was becoming annoyed at his friend's insistence, after he'd made it clear that he wasn't interested. The promise of added power was indeed tempting, but he didn't dare leave his domain. John knew that, but apparently he didn't think it important.

"I want us all to go," was the not unexpected response. "Our home is there, not here. There are others like us–not many, Merlin said, but some–and we belong with them. We've shown the natives here what their lives can be. Let them choose it on their own, Victor. Leave them be, even if it's only for a while, long enough for them to decide for themselves which is the better way. Then we can go from there. For now, let's take Merlin up on his offer. Let's go home."

Victor sat thoughtfully. Agatha was in agreement with John, he could see, though she hadn't spoken. The two of them would gladly set sail as soon as the weather permitted, but they were staying for him. They didn't have to, he knew; even if Merlin would only accept a trio, there was a whole new land to explore far away from here. Agatha wouldn't leave him without his permission, but that was her decision. He couldn't keep her here against her will, not with John supporting her. Part of him didn't even want to. She didn't love him, couldn't love him despite her honest effort. If she asked, he would be hard-pressed to refuse his wife her freedom. He hoped she wouldn't ask.

"I'm not ready," was the best answer he could muster. "Go ahead and get the ship prepared, but I can't promise I'll be on it. Maybe next year, when I'm better established, I'll go visit overseas. I just need some time."


	25. Fighting back

It started in the north, the hill country that was home to the iron mines. Word came to the sorcerers late in the day, from a messenger too exhausted to speak right away. After a few cups of fortification, he regained sufficient strength.

"They attacked at dawn," he said. "Must have been a hundred or more, just pouring over the hills. They killed the workers, pushed the carts off the tracks and then tore 'em up. The tracks, I mean. Tore up the tracks. Spilled ore everywhere, and then set fire to everything. They took axes to the boats. Didn't say a word, just killed and destroyed. I got away in a canoe they hadn't got to yet, been paddling like mad to reach you. Had to hide sometimes 'cause they chased down the ones who tried to escape. I'm lucky to be alive."

John and Victor exchanged glances. "That would explain why there's been no metal shipment today," said John. He returned his attention to the messenger. "Could you tell who they were, or why they attacked? What about John's Town? We haven't heard from them today, either."

The man drank some more, then replied a bit more calmly. "I recognized some of the men from the workers you brought in. I guess the rest were slaves in the villages, 'cause the ones I knew were leading the attack like they knew all about the mines."

"But we let them go!" Victor protested. He glared at John. "I told you that was a bad idea."

The messenger continued. "Don't know about John's Town. Maybe they just wanted to stop us from sending materials there. I didn't see anyone after I got a few miles away from the mines."

Victor frowned. "Well, we'd better send a squadron up there anyway, and then see how much damage was done to our supply source. John, let's take some horses into the village so we can gather my soldiers for a trip north."

* * *

><p>The devastation was complete. The raiders had vanished, but they left death and ruin in their wake. Even the oxen had been slaughtered, their bellies sliced open to let their innards spill out on the ground.<p>

"Savages," John agreed quietly. "Why? Why this brutality, this...this viciousness?"

Victor, naturally cynical, provided the answer. "Because they hate us. They hate everything about us, no matter how good we think it is: our metal, our cloth and paper, wheels and roads, and even the animals we gave them. They obeyed us when we had control, but we showed weakness when we let them go. They're just taking advantage of that weakness."

"Well," said his companion, " I suppose we'd better keep some people in John's Town, in case the attackers decide to come south."

Victor had another idea. "Too risky. We can't afford to spread our forces too thin; there just aren't enough of us. We'll have to move the occupants to my village, for their own protection."

Reluctantly, John had to accept the validity of his friend's argument. "They won't like it, but I'm afraid you're right." He sighed. "Let me be the one to tell them. We'll meet you at the longhouse as soon as I can get them all packed up. It shouldn't take more than a day or two."

"Tell them it's only temporary," Victor suggested. "After we wipe out the savages, they can go back to their own homes."

"That should help."

* * *

><p>One by one, the smaller settlements in the network fell to the onslaught of the raiders. The sorcerers had no way of knowing about the attacks until it was far too late to do anything about them. Only prolonged silence and absence of trade gave any clue that anything was amiss.<p>

South Port was the first major target to be hit. As a relatively advanced civilization on the southern tip of the land mass, they had thought themselves protected by the sea and a strong palisade wall on their northern border. A small contingent of mounted soldiers patrolled the perimeter night and day, and a messenger on swift steed visited daily from Victor's Village to keep them abreast of any new developments, and to carry back reports from the port.

They came in the darkness, in the gray light of false dawn. The first warning was the fire at the iron-bound gate, the only entrance on the landward side of town. Other fires rose at intervals along the wall, slowly burning their way through to the inside. The patrol was quick to rouse the South Port inhabitants, who rushed to bring water to the site.

Those who sought to retrieve water from the sea never returned. Dozens upon dozens of canoes had converged on the port like sharks surrounding a school of fish. More fires erupted from the ships moored at the dock, the victims of flaming arrows from the invaders. Those invaders swarmed ashore, overrunning and then massacring every living thing in their way.

When it was over, those who had been slaves showed no joy in their triumph, but methodically went through every house, every building and pen, leaving nothing alive. As before, the oxen and horses were disemboweled and left to die, while the smaller animals were simply butchered.

There had been more raiders this time, their number bolstered by those from tribes which had never been conquered or even contacted by the godlike strangers. Many had been killed in the attack on South Port, but there were still more left than the entire number who had destroyed the hill mines to the north. They left the ruins of the town in flames behind them.

The fleet headed up the eastern river. It reached the closer of the two isles off the coast, the one on which dwelt the sheep and cattle. The animals and their caretakers were soon dispatched; then it was on to Equus, the final destination.

* * *

><p>John woke to the sound of screams from men and horses. He rushed to the front door without even stopping to put his boots on, soon to be joined by his fellow sorcerers. The sun, low in the east, shone on carnage.<p>

Victor's elite forces, trained by him personally for combat, were fighting a sea of savages. They were badly outnumbered, and were becoming more so by the minute. They needed help, now.

"Agatha," her husband ordered, "see if you can save the horses, as many as possible. Bring them back here, away from the fight. John and I have a battle to win."

With that, the men strode together into the midst of the fray. They fought as one, as if they'd done this sort of thing a hundred times before. Each had a sword taken from a fallen warrior, but they used their magic as much as they did their weapons.

The sea broke before them at last. The human defenders were slain, but there were many more dead among the enemy. Those who were left fell back, some circling on either side toward the fort, others heading for the stables.

John noted their division with alarm. "What are they doing?" he asked, as if Victor would know any more than he did. "Where's Agatha?"

"One place or the other," his comrade answered grimly. "They're looking for her."

"Then let's find her first."

They retreated to the shelter of the fort, but their partner wasn't there. Their foes retreated before the pair of sorcerers, melting away to join their brethren in the opposite direction. John took advantage of the reprieve to fetch his snakeskin boots; then they were off again, following the enemy to where the horses were kept.

A hubbub halfway there told them they'd found their woman. She was mounted, armed, and very dangerous. The mob around her pressed in, but she kept them at bay with magic and her mount's flailing hoofs. She was defending not just herself, but a small group of horses behind her. They were slowly losing ground.

Victor and John made their arrival known, none too soon. The trio scattered their attackers, most of whom fled on foot or by boat. The few who remained were hurt too badly to run.

Agatha dismounted as her partners came near. She had proved herself a warrior as much as they were, and they greeted each other as such. Then she turned back to the animals under her protection. "Only four," she said sadly. "That's all I could save, out of a herd of more than fifty. It's such a waste."

"You did well," John reassured her, "better than we did. We're the only three people left who can ride." He searched the ground for the nearest living raider. "I'm going to find out why we were attacked."

* * *

><p>They gathered around a man who was doing his best to crawl away despite a hip crushed by a kick from Agatha's steed. They disarmed him easily, and he lay on his back panting but defiant.<p>

When questioned, he at first refused to answer, even with Victor's ever-present dagger to his throat. Only when he felt icy tendrils beginning to creep into his mind did he widen his eyes in terror, and finally relent.

"Demons!" he spat at them. "All of you, demons! You do things only the gods can do, but you're no gods. You steal men's spirits." He sent a piercing glare at the quartet of horses. "You stole our wives and children and used them..."

"Shut up," Victor growled, and pressed the blade of his dagger deeper. "We don't need to hear any more."

Suspicious now, John pulled his friend's arm back gently but firmly. "Let him speak," he commanded. "I want to know what he's talking about."

Their captive continued. "You killed their bodies and trapped their spirits inside those creatures you made. They're monsters now, creatures made by demons to serve the demons. We have to free the spirits. The monsters have to die, and so do all the other things that serve you. The gods demand it."

"Human spirits inside..." John's suspicions had been well founded. "Victor, you didn't..."

His colleague cut him off. "Later," he said tersely. "We have more immediate concerns." Now it was his turn to address the enemy. "The others who were with you, where did they go?"

The man smiled in grim satisfaction. "You're too late. They went to your village to meet up with the rest of our army. We were sent here to kill the monsters, but also to keep you demons away from the village for as long as possible. My people should be done with their work by now."

The sorcerers stared at each other in horror. With one accord, each chose a steed and swiftly mounted. They galloped away from the field of battle, Agatha leading the spare animal by the rope on its bridle, while behind them the wounded combatant laughed aloud.

* * *

><p>White smoke rose above the budding trees, and with it the stench of burning wood and flesh. The riders knew before they came to the village what they would find, and they were right. They had to force their horses closer in spite of the animals' fear of fire, for they didn't dare leave them unattended.<p>

It was a massacre, just as the previous attacks had been. The sorcerers searched the grounds in the faint hope of finding any survivors, but there were none. The enemy had been very thorough. Nor had any buildings been spared. The wigwams were already collapsed into burning heaps, and the more sturdy structures were ablaze where they stood. The village and its people were lost.

Agatha rejoined her comrades after their fruitless search. Her eyes were streaming with tears, but it was hard to tell whether they were from sadness or the stinging smoke all about. "Gone," she said in a voice hoarse from coughing. "All gone."

Victor, in an unusual gesture of comfort, laid his hand on her shoulder and drew her away from the scene. "Let's go back to the fort," he suggested. "There's nothing we can do here." She nodded, and the trio left the village forever.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day was taken up with tending to the living and the dead. None of the sorcerers had any medical training, so their help in that area was limited. They did what they could. Those wounded who were beyond hope of recovery were granted a quick and painless death: an entranced or unconscious mind couldn't feel a fatal stab to the body. There were too many casualties for individual interment. Three mass graves were dug: one each for friends, foes, and horses. There would be no scavengers to eat the flesh of the dead.<p>

Only injured enemies remained. They lay in neat rows on blankets upon the fort's training room floor, a few moaning but most enduring their pain in silence. Their battle was over; except for the four animals that the demons had saved, their mission was accomplished. They were at the demons' mercy now. That was a risk they'd been willing to take when they attacked the island, and none had any regrets.

In a smaller room that had been hastily converted to a stable, the masters of the fort saw to the needs of their beasts. John had grown rather more attentive to them than would normally be warranted. The others noticed, but let him be the first to bring up the subject again.

He did. "How many, Victor?" he asked. "Were they all humans once?" He remembered the looks of hopelessness from the mares he'd passed after his return from the sea. If he'd known then, he would have been furious. Now, though, he was just too tired.

"Some," his colleague replied. "Just the mares. I wanted the stallions to keep a stallion's instincts." He didn't say it aloud, but John knew what he meant. Animals couldn't control their own mating instincts, and the hope was to have natural foals when the time came.

"These four are all mares," John pointed out needlessly. "That's why we were attacked. It wasn't just hatred of progress, was it, Victor? You tampered with something deeper, something more important. I understand now why the enemy fought back."

The other man scowled. "Are you saying this is all my fault?" The horses shifted nervously as they picked up the tension in the air. "I had it under control until you made me free the ungrateful bastards. This never would have happened if you'd just kept your nose out of it."

"What, just let you continue being a tyrant? 'Emperor' Victor, my eye! You don't care about anything but power. Humans, other sorcerers, even your own wife mean nothing to you, do they? You're a disgrace to the world of magic."

Victor's face had grown purple with rage. Things would have come to blows, but Agatha stepped between the two quarreling men. "Stop!" she ordered them both. "It's over. We had a vision, but it's gone now. All we have left is each other. Please, let's not take that away, too."

The would-be combatants glared at each other past the woman in the middle. John was the first to give way. "All right," he said to Agatha. "For your sake, I'll try to keep working with your husband..." He looked up at Victor. "As long as he doesn't abuse his sorcerer power again."

Through narrowed eyes, his antagonist responded, "As if you have any authority to decide what's abuse and what isn't, you self-righteous.." He stopped himself at his wife's disapproving frown. "Oh, all right," he sighed. "I won't do anything else unless we all agree that it's allowed. I'll expect the same courtesy from you, too, John. There, satisfied?"

Agatha the referee nodded. "Good. I don't want to hear any more talk of blame or what the other person should have done. We're starting fresh. Now, we have some planning to do. We have wounded people to take care of; and after that, we have to decide what we're going to do next. We'll need all the clear thinking we can get."

* * *

><p>The fort was well stocked with everything that an army under siege might need. The saddlebags were stuffed full, the fourth horse laden with packed supplies, and the least injured patient tasked with seeing to the welfare of his fellows. One with a bandaged leg was sent by canoe to bring his people to the hospital-fort to retrieve those who were mending there.<p>

The sorcerers rode away from the last evidence of their presence in this world. They headed south, following the same route that John and Agatha had traveled before.

"It's too bad South Port isn't there anymore," John commented. "We might have to ride a long way before we find another settlement that can build the kind of ship we need."

"We'll find one eventually," said the woman beside him.

Victor just grunted, his way of contributing to the conversation. With nothing left to hold him here, he'd consented at last to sail across the ocean with his friends. It was a freeing decision, in a way, allowing someone else to have control and its attendant responsibility, though of course he'd never admit that to the others. Meanwhile, he was enjoying this time alone with his peers–yes, even John. It felt good to be part of a team of equals. He would never admit that, either.

They made a slight detour to revisit the beach with the crystal pebbles. Here they spent another night, and here it was their world ended.


	26. Finding Chandra

"They can't have just vanished." Drake put his computer to sleep, frustrated. There had been no word, no clue from anybody. Their quarry had simply disappeared.

"Did you check to see if the girl contacted her parents or friends?" Chandra asked from the couch against the wall to his left. She had graduated to using only a cane, and was looking forward to the day when even that would no longer be needed.

Her apprentice rolled his eyes. "Yes, Master, of course I checked, more than once. You think I'm dense?"

At one time, she could have teased him about that, but not now. "No," she sighed. "I'm just trying to think of more possibilities, that's all." In truth, she was as determined to find the Merlinians as Drake was, although for different reasons. They had trusted her to help them finish a job, and they had nearly succeeded. She wanted to see it through. Not only that, but the intractable Morganian inside wanted to see Horvath get the punishment he deserved. She tried not to think about Drake's plans for those she didn't dare call friends. She would deal with that when and if those plans looked liable to succeed.

Meanwhile, she had a request for him. "Will you please shut that thing off?" she begged of her host, pointing to the big-screen TV on the opposite side of the room. Her apprentice hadn't lost all his penchant for showing off his wealth.

The former illusionist waved a hand at it, and the screen went dark and silent. Then, with a huge yawn, he clasped his hands behind his head and stretched from the waist up. He still hoped to disable the Prime Merlinian, or kill him if necessary, rather than turning on his master, but things weren't looking good at the moment. Peering directly at his visitor, the woman who lived in the apartment next to his, he summarized their findings.

"Alright, here's what we know: the kid and his girlfriend dropped out of college without telling anyone ahead of time. Her friends think they eloped, which is giving them more credit than they deserve, if you ask me. The Feds are keeping quiet about their investigation; I guess they're embarrassed that a kid could take out three entire teams and then get away. Nobody has filed a missing persons report, and nobody seems overly concerned with where they could have gone. Sounds kinda fishy, doesn't it?"

She didn't even try to answer, as it really wasn't expected. Drake went on. "Okay, the missing police car is still missing, which means they turned it into some other vehicle, probably more than once, even. That's not gonna help us. If they need papers for anything, those can be faked. Otherwise, cash in hand can cover a lot of tracks." He threw up his hands. "We've got nothing!"

"Nothing but their contacts," Chandra amended. "There's only so much we can learn secondhand. We'll have to interrogate some people directly."

"Yeah, but how do we do that? It would have to be done in private, and someplace where I can go in my chair. Being crippled is not cool."

"Why don't I bring them to you, then?" Dave sat where Chandra had been an instant before, only to be replaced by Becky Barnes a moment later. Chandra let the illusion melt away with a shrug. "Only the cane can't be helped, but I can make up a plausible excuse for it without a problem. Then, when we're finished with each one, we'll have to figure out some way to have them go back to their normal routines without giving away the game for the next subject. Do you think you can come up with something?"

He thought about it while he rested his chin in the palm of one hand. Finally, he looked up again at his master on the couch. "Yeah, I can do it," he assured her. "If you could bring a group of 'em at one time, that would be great, but I don't know how many you can control if there are too many distractions." It was important that nobody else touch a subject while entranced.

"Let me worry about that," she responded. To begin with, let's find Dave's old roommate Bennett. Let's find out what he knows."

* * *

><p>In the end, they knew little more than they had when they started. Bennett was Dave's only college friend, but Becky had quite a few more. All of them had to be questioned, along with various adults who might conceivably have information: certain professors, the owners of both students' residence buildings, even the university dean. It was easier to have the postmaster general go through his computer records than to see if he remembered any change of address notices for Stutler or Barnes. There was no "Alvar" at all.<p>

"So what have we found out?" Drake asked rhetorically. "We've got one note that just showed up in Bennett's mailbox, and another at the radio station–no postmarks, no return address–and all they say is that the kids are off traveling the country with this Alvar character. That's no help at all."

"We haven't talked to the parents yet," Chandra pointed out.

"Oh, yeah," her student scoffed. "Like they're gonna come here on their own."

"Well, there's a better likelihood of that than that we'll be able to go to them," the other replied, irked. "Neither one of us can drive. I can't even be _in_ a car, as you very well know."

He looked at her searchingly. "Unless..."

"I don't like that tone, Drake. What are you scheming?"

He arched an eyebrow at her in imitation of Maxim Horvath. "Well, we know there's one way to disable your, um...special ability. I can hire someone to take us where we want to go, but you'd have to be totally out of it, if you catch my meaning."

"Yes, I do catch your meaning, and no, I'm not going to go along with it. Absolutely not."

"But it makes perfect sense! We go up to New Haven in an ambulance, pick up the kid's mum, then come back down to Millville. I wake you up, we question the humans, and that's that."

She shook her head. "No, Drake. Number one, I don't trust you with my health, never mind my life. You're no doctor. The only way to do what you suggest is to use the Parasite Spell, and I am _not_ going to volunteer for that.

'Number two, even if I did, how would we get back here or wherever else we needed to go? The spell only works once; it kills the subject if you try to use it on him again.

'And finally, number three, power is addictive. I have no guarantee that you won't just leave me lying on the floor while you use my ring and the power it feeds you through me. That's what Horvath intended for you and Abigail, until I convinced him to wake you both and craft new rings for you."

"Yeah." Drake slouched uncomfortably in his seat, as if he'd been caught plotting something illicit. "Um, thanks for helping me out there, Master."

His discomfiture didn't escape his visitor's notice. "I've been a Morganian a lot longer than you have," she reminded him. "Don't expect to catch me off guard, either, the way you younger ones were. No, we'll have to think of something else, something that involves working _with_ each other, not against. You always did have trouble thinking as part of a team."

Drake said nothing. Well, he thought to himself, there goes my alternative plan to keep the old sorcerers away permanently without having to kill anyone. Despite his show of confidence, he knew his chances of killing, or even just overpowering, the Prime Merlinian were slim to none. It was becoming more and more obvious that his master would have to be the one who was sacrificed to ensure her student's safety. Gratitude and loyalty were no match for self-preservation. That was the Morganian way.

* * *

><p>For the sake of expediency, and to keep a safe distance from each other, the pair decided to split up temporarily to finish their interrogations. Chandra, it was agreed, would hire a hansom to take her to New Haven and back, while her apprentice made rather better time in a wheelchair-accessible van to and from Millville, New Jersey. They would meet again at his apartment in one day's time to share their discoveries, if any.<p>

At the appointed time after their return, the sorcerer woman limped down the hallway to her neighbor's door. She knocked, and Drake invited her in.

There was a new bit of ostentatiousness on display. On the wall against which the couch had been positioned was a huge painting, the stylized portrait of Drake and an adoring nymph that had been so proudly displayed in his old penthouse.. In this smaller room, the painting took up most of the wall. The displaced couch was now in the middle of the floor.

Chandra took in the new decor, aghast. "That...that's, um, a little much, don't you think?"

"Hey," he responded, "it's the only thing I could salvage from my old place. Everything else was swiped, either by my ex-employees or by fans who wanted a memento of me. It's kinda flattering, really." He scratched his chin. "Where should I put the couch, though? The best place is out from the wall a little, but I can't decide whether to have it facing the TV or my picture."

"Face the TV," she said immediately. "And hurry up, please. My leg is still throbbing from all that travel."

"Okay." The sofa glided into place about two feet in front of the giant portrait, enough space for a person to walk behind it if he so desired, but not out far enough for Drake to get through. His master sank down gratefully onto the cushions. "So what'd you get?" he asked her. "Did Dave's mum tell you anything useful?"

"Not much," Chandra admitted. "She got a note, too, saying he was fine, taking off the semester to do some traveling with Becky and a chaperone. It said he'd call her when he got back, but no specifics." She smiled at some private memory. "It also said he was eating better, now that he had others with him who didn't mind cooking."

The smile was lost on Drake. "You're right: that's not much," he concurred. "As for me, I had a bit better luck. The girl called her parents once. I traced the call to a public phone at a Pennsylvania rest stop. She didn't tell them any more than the kid told his mum, but at least we have a location now to start looking–if I still need to find them, that is."

Chandra frowned and sat up straight, suddenly wary again. "What do you mean?"

It was then she heard a sudden ripping noise behind her. Too late, she twisted halfway off the couch, arms already rising defensively in front of her face. The painted canvas descended–no, swooped–upon her like a net over a startled butterfly. It wrapped itself tightly around her, an instant cocoon that left her unable to move or even see. Then the couch tipped backward. She fell back with it, through a barrier with its own distinctive sound. She knew even before she rolled to a stop what had just happened. The canvas loosened, and she was able at last to free herself from it and look around the room.

Her apprentice was grinning at her from the other side of the Mirror Trap. She banged on the unbreakable window that was her side of the mirror. "Drake Stone, you traitorous little ingrate!" she yelled at him. "You let me out of here right now!"

"Sorry, Master," he told her. "I had to make sure you weren't going to someday bring back Horvath and Blake. You didn't go for my Parasite plan, so this was the only other way I could eliminate you without actually killing you." Yes, the Mirror world would eventually prove fatal to anyone trapped in it, but he had no intention of sticking around to witness that. His face registered regret, but it wasn't for her fate. "Shame that I had to tear my picture down so I could get to the mirror behind it. Oh, well." He shrugged in his wheelchair.

"Please, Drake," she begged. "We had a plan, remember? You can't just leave me here to die. You took an oath."

"It's nothing personal," he assured her, as if that should be a comfort. "Maxim Horvath is the only person I have a real beef with. Since my original plan didn't work out, I've decided the best thing to do is keep him away from me permanently. Unfortunately, that means you have to go. I'm not going to chase after the Prime Merlinian on the slim chance that I can catch him by surprise, him and his friends." He backed his chair away a little. "Just one final precaution," he said. "I don't want anyone walking in and seeing you there, maybe bringing in another mirror so you can escape." He flung both hands forward as if throwing something heavy. The mirror shattered. The sorcerer was left staring at a plain wall, shards of glass littering the floor at its base. "Good-bye, Master," was his final farewell to one who could no longer hear him. He was safe now, safe and free. He didn't need to find the fugitives anymore. He'd send somebody in later, after a week or two, to clean up and move his furniture to his new residence, wherever he decided to settle. It was time to start a new life. He left the apartment forever, turning off the lights as he went out the door. The empty room behind fell into darkness, as silent as the tomb within the mirror.

* * *

><p>She stood alone in a room with no exits. The window was gone, leaving only a blank wall in its place. Beyond the door, where a hallway would be in the normal world, was nothingness: no light, no floor, not even air. The same was true of the doors to the other rooms in the apartment. Only this room existed here in the reflected world. She had neither food nor water, not that she could have digested either one in their reversed states, and the air would eventually run out as well. She fought to keep herself from panicking.<p>

She needed another mirror. Drake's vanity should have led him to put many mirrors in his home, but he had matured past that indulgence, or perhaps he simply didn't want any more reminders of his disability. There were none. She hadn't brought her purse with its little makeup mirror, but it would have been too small for her to get back anyway. Still, it would have given her contact with the outside, to call for help if anyone came within earshot before it was too late. As it was, she was stranded. Nobody knew she was here, nobody but Drake, who certainly wasn't going to tell. To the world, she had vanished as thoroughly as Becky and the Merlinians had, with less hope of ever being found.

What was worse, she found herself thinking, only the Merlinians even cared. Her own had betrayed her too often. She made a vow then and there: I'm through with the Morganians. If I somehow find a way out of here, I renounce the false promise of power. I will never use dark magic again, or any magic to kill except in self-defense. I've sacrificed everything for the Morganian cause, and all I have to show for it is the expectation of a pathetic, lonely death, here in this miserable apartment. I'm done with it all. I'm done.

She righted the fallen couch and plopped down on it to rest and think. Her leg was throbbing badly now, and the stress had renewed the pain in her wounded shoulder, as well. She massaged both areas, but it didn't help. Finally, she gave up the effort and simply lay back on the couch to wait it out. Sleep overtook her before the wait was over.

* * *

><p>The air had grown stale by the time Chandra woke. No, she concluded in despair, her situation was real. She had hoped it was only a nightmare. At least her wounds didn't hurt anymore.<p>

So what now? she wondered. Things hadn't improved in the hours she'd been asleep. In fact, they were even worse now. She was losing breathable air, she hadn't eaten since she'd been in her own apartment, and she needed water soon. Plus, she had to use a bathroom that didn't exist.

Well, at least she could take care of that last, most urgent need. The empty space beyond the bathroom door worked just fine as an outhouse, though she had to use Kleenex instead of the proper tissue.

Automatically, she waved at the Kleenex box to return it to its end table. It didn't move. "Argh," she thought aloud. She'd forgotten that magic didn't work here. She carried it back to where it belonged, beside the remote control for the TV. Experimentally, she picked up the device and pointed it at the screen, pressing the red button that said REWOP.

It worked. She gaped, astonished, as the TV blared to life. Apparently, even magic ability was reversed here; she couldn't do what the outside world allowed, but her negative power–her electric disruption field–was turned around as well. It was refreshing to the point of being exhilarating, if only she dared breathe deeply enough to enjoy it. Instead, she carefully approached every electric device in the room. All of them still worked. She turned off the TV by pressing the button under the set itself. Then, for the first time in her life, she created a plasma bolt.

She held it above her open palm, a beautiful crackling blue ball of energy. She aimed it for the nearest target, one of the spotlights above where the ghastly painting had hung. It smashed the light with a satisfying crunch. Happily, she repeated her action to destroy the two remaining spotlights. It felt good, a sort of revenge against the subject of that painting.

The wall was noticeably darker now that it had lost its special treatment. Chandra held another bolt at the ready, but now she had to find a new target. She turned slowly until she saw a bright spot at the center of the big blank TV screen. It was the reflected glow from her plasma bolt, but there was too much light still in the room for it to show clearly. The sorcerer stared; an idea had been planted in her head. She strode to the wall switch by the hall door and turned off the overhead lights.

The room became pitch black. Then a blue globe flared in the darkness, casting its glow on the face of the one who had made it. She approached the screen until she stood directly in front of it, and the globe shone full upon it. Its reflection was there, filtered but distinct, and behind it was the shadowy image of the woman. She willed the light to increase. It became too bright for her to see herself, so she dimmed it to its previous setting and created another, one for each hand. Yes, that was better. Here at last was the mirror she needed. Chandra and her mirror image smiled.


	27. The return

"You know, I really like this lifestyle," Alvar remarked to the young man seated on his right. They were on the road again, making their way through the southeast region of America. Here the campgrounds were open year-round, and the little car they'd bought for day trips made their lives much easier.

Dave felt like a copilot in his comfortable chair beside that of the driver. He slouched in it and stared at the road ahead. "What, being a fugitive?" he asked sourly.

"No, being free to travel wherever and whenever I want and still be home." Alvar spared a glance at his companion. "You're in a grumpy mood today," he observed. "Why?"

Dave swivelled his chair around to look back into the lounge of the Winnebago. Becky was there on the couch, busy with the laptop computer that had been purchased for her as a Christmas present (along with a surprise visit to her parents' home for a few brief hours). She was listening to music online, downloading the songs she liked., and writing reviews of the new albums that she'd heard. It wasn't the same as being a DJ at the radio station where she'd worked, but at least she was still involved in her area of passion.

Dave, on the other hand, was missing his physics classes. His coils had been destroyed, and he had no idea where to go from here. Online research could only help so much. He had no lab, no instructor, and no new textbooks. His only professor now was Alvar, and that was for the subject of magic.

He sighed. "Spring Semester will be starting up soon, and we haven't even registered," he complained. "People will be expecting us to show up; the notes only said we were taking off the one semester."

"I thought you'd lost interest in school. Remember in the Fall, you said the only reason you were staying in was so you could keep the lab. Now that the lab is gone, are you saying you've changed your mind?"

"It's not school per se," Dave explained. "It's the continued learning. I'd be happy with a physics tutor, but I don't see how I can get one of those." He waved in Becky's direction. "And having to come up with new identities doesn't seem right, either." Their own online and financial accounts were now off-limits, naturally, so he and his fellow student had been forced to establish new ones under assumed names, with magically-created (but false) documents. They didn't like it, but they had little choice.

"We do what we have to do," Alvar said. "You can't turn yourself in unless you want to go to jail for the rest of your life. Becky's an accomplice just for being there with us. Me, I don't legally exist. They can't even deport me as an illegal alien since I'm not a citizen anywhere. Like it or not, we're all fugitives together."

Dave buried his face in his hands. "I am so screwed," he mumbled. "I just messed up everything." He looked up again. "Can I have a do-over?"

Alvar clapped him on the shoulder. "Nope. What's done is done. There's no going back." It wasn't condemnation he conveyed, but resignation. "I've done my share of messing up, too, Dave. Believe me, I understand." He smiled briefly, then turned his eyes back to the road.

"I wish..." Dave thought aloud, but caught himself before saying more.

Alvar seemed to read his mind. "Yes, so do I," he agreed. They didn't talk about Balthazar or the other missing sorcerers anymore. Neither had forgotten, but it was just too painful to speak of those who were lost to them forever. Balthazar had changed both of their lives, had been the reason they were here together now, but he was gone. The ring on Alvar's hand, with its warm and gentle pulsing, was a constant reminder of where his one-time apprentice lingered in the form of a silent specter. The ghost was still where it had been when Alvar fled, still where Manhattan stood today. He would never see it again, not without the sorcerer lost in the present.

Where was Chandra? he wondered. Was she even alive? To his own surprise, he discovered that he missed the Morganian, and not just because they needed her to accomplish their goal. As a former Morganian himself, he knew the struggle a person could endure to deny his own nature. Unless one practiced dark magic regularly, or had a psychopathic bent to begin with, the human needs to love and be loved could only be repressed for so long. Power was a sorry substitute. Alvar sincerely hoped that the older woman was alive and well, wherever she might be.

* * *

><p>"Let's take it back," Dave requested. "This camper, it's not ours, not really. It's a stolen police car. If we're going to be spending the rest of our lives on the run, or maybe even have to leave the country, could we at least do it in our own vehicle?"<p>

Alvar finished drying the last of the dishes and hung the towel on the bar under the sink cabinet. That done, he joined his companions in the living room, sitting in the cozy chair opposite the couch where the young couple huddled together. "I suppose we could do that," he allowed. "Did you just want to trade this one in for another, 'legitimate' one, or were you thinking something else? I don't know about you, but I'm not going to be satisfied with nothing but the Malibu we've been towing."

Dave and Becky exchanged glances; obviously, they'd been discussing this in private. Alvar had been conscientious about leaving the two alone, trying to encourage them to get closer without his distracting presence. His efforts were showing fruit now, though that fruit may well have come in time on its own. Shared danger had a way of speeding up the bonding process.

"Trade it in, I think," Dave replied. "Personally, I'd rather settle down somewhere and build another lab, but maybe it's better to start concentrating on applied physics and how magic fits in there." He shrugged. "Or vice versa. I have a good grounding in both fields now, but you can help me develop my magic skills further...um, if you want to, I mean."

"Certainly. You're the only family I have left. I'm happy to teach you anything I can."

"Thanks. I'm glad you're here with me." Alvar could easily have abandoned him, he knew...and so could Becky. He snuggled closer to her, and she rested her head on his shoulder, her hand clasped firmly in his. "This isn't fair to either one of you," Dave continued. "I'm the one who got us in trouble. I really, really appreciate you staying with me."

Becky spoke softly. "It's all right, Dave. I don't mind traveling, seeing the country instead of going to college. That was my parents' idea, not mine. My dad thought I should be a lawyer like him, that there was no future in music. Maybe he was right, but my heart just wasn't in it, what he wanted. I'm almost glad that I can't go back to school now. Almost..." She missed her friends, he could tell, and the radio station, and the lively pace of life in New York City.

Alvar rose. "It's settled then," he decided. "We'll head north tomorrow. We can leave the car at another campground that's open year-round, probably in Virginia, have it packed full of our stuff, then take the Winnebago back to where we got it. Don't worry; it won't be a camper anymore by the time we get to Manhattan."

* * *

><p>They left the police car under FDR Drive, just where it passed beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, in the evening on the last Sunday of January. Three officers got out of the vehicle and walked away; they became civilians as soon as it was out of sight. As a trio of well-dressed Italian gentlemen, they took a walking tour of the city that had been the last place they'd lived before being forced into exile.<p>

"Memories?" asked the younger, dark-haired man.

The blond nodded. "Yeah. Everything seems so normal, like we could just go back to our lives whenever we want."

"I wish we could," he agreed. "Nothing is the same, though, and it will probably never be the same again." Basically, this tour was their final farewell to New York City, though none of them wanted to say so. They had no residences here anymore, nor any family or belongings. Saying good-bye to their friends had to be done from a distance for fear of discovery.

One friend only was the exception. They made their way to the deck of the Chrysler Building where a great steel gargoyle watched over the city below. Dave, as himself now, awakened the eagle with a touch.

The creature seemed to sense its visitors' sadness. It cocked its head, staring with quizzical metal eyes at the sorcerer who had brought it to life.

"Hi, boy," Dave said quietly. "It's good to see you again." He smiled gently and stroked the eagle as he'd seen his master do. "We're leaving New York for good," he told it. "We need one last favor from you, if you would." The bird waited as if it understood. He continued. "Will you take us to Richmond? We plan to buy a new camper there, keep moving until it's safe to settle down somewhere. I don't expect we'll ever see you again."

The eagle just stared at him. It turned its head to observe the other two travelers, then looked past them and screeched.

"Wha...?" Dave, taken aback, whirled in place to see what his friend had seen. Alvar and Becky were just as startled as he.

"Leaving...?" A woman stood panting in the doorway, her face red from exertion and leaning heavily on a cane. She tried again. "Leaving so soon?"

"Chandra!" All three were overjoyed to see her, but Alvar reached her first. She had to let her cane fall to the deck in order to return his bear hug. The younger two were just slightly more restrained. Questions came in a rush, until she held up one hand to halt them.

"Wait!" she said, still somewhat out of breath. She sat on the ledge that ran along the inside of the deck, the same ledge where Balthazar had bandaged a wounded pigeon's leg. "Do you...have any idea...how many steps...I had to climb...to get here?" she panted. "I'm not twenty...anymore. Let me rest a bit."

"Sorry," Dave apologized, abashed. "Um, is there something I can do? Do you want some water, maybe?"

"That would be nice."

"I'll get it," volunteered Becky. "Dave, why don't you and Alvar fill in poor Chandra here on what's been going on at our end?" She was glad for an excuse to get away from the edge of a terribly tall building.

Flanked by the sorcerers who'd once held her captive, Chandra now found herself totally at ease in their company. She listened to their tale without interrupting, letting her body cool down until she could breathe normally again. It didn't take long; exposed to the winter wind at the top of a New York skyscraper, they were all shivering before the tale was through.

Becky returned with a bottle of water in her hand. The older woman took it with a smile. "Thank you, dear." She downed a good third of it, then offered the rest to the others, who declined.

"Now it's your turn," said Alvar. "What happened to you?"

"I'll be happy to tell you whatever you want to know, and more, but not here. Could we go someplace warmer, please?"

"How about Richmond, Virginia?"

"Richmond, Virginia sounds wonderful."

* * *

><p>The new camper, registered to Alvar Masters just as was the Malibu, was even more plush than the transformed one had been. Even sitting in place at the campground, without power from engine, battery, or hook-up, the living room rivaled that of a penthouse suite. Chandra leaned back in her soft leather recliner, resting her glass of Merlot on the counter by her side. "Mmm," she purred. "This is pure luxury. If this is what a fugitive's life is like, it's a wonder there aren't more fugitives in the world."<p>

"Only because we're sorcerers," Alvar pointed out, though he was pleased to have her approval. They were all feeling immeasurably better now. Hope was rekindled despite their Wanted status, hope that their lost comrades would be restored to them, that somehow everything would be all right once that was accomplished.

"So when do you want to do this?" she asked, meaning another wormhole attempt. Their first impulse, to try as soon as the eagle dropped them off at the campground beside the Malibu, was stifled by a dose of common sense from Becky.

"We're out in the middle of a field," she'd noted, "surrounded by a bunch of other campers. You don't think anyone will notice the light you create, not to mention the noise? Your fog can't contain those, as we found out under the bridge."

"You're right," Dave had to admit glumly. "When Balthazar said civilians mustn't know about magic, he wasn't kidding. It really _is_ complicated."

Chandra added, "Drake did a better job than even he knows. He knew you'd have to use magic to defend yourselves, but he didn't expect you to fight back against humans. Merlinians generally don't do that. Now he has free reign wherever he goes, knowing you don't dare show up to stop him." She grimaced. "He thinks he's safe from your friends, too, since he doesn't know I escaped from his trap. Ungrateful little wretch, I'd like to send _him_ through a wormhole–without his wheelchair, even. Let him crawl." Her smile was anything but pleasant.

Now, in the new Winnebago, the quartet mulled over the question. Alvar raised his glass to his lips for another sip, but abruptly stopped. His ring was throbbing. He put the glass down to investigate. After a few moments during which the others waited impatiently, he looked up at them and announced, "He's moving."

This was more than just the daily travel in and about the Manhattan area. The ring's directions weren't that specific at this distance. From here, it only showed that he was coming closer, and had been for at least a day.

"Let's go meet him," Dave suggested. "We'll stop at the first place where nobody can see us. There has to be someplace like that between here and New York."

Chandra speared him with a gimlet glare. "And how do you propose to do that?" she demanded. "We can't use the eagle in the daytime, and I certainly can't come with you in your vehicle." She turned to Alvar. "I think you were right, Alvar, that first day you took me shopping. You should have kept the horse."

* * *

><p>Cape May in early February was deserted, or it had been until the camper parked on the closest piece of solid ground to the beach. Alvar and the young couple got out, the latter walking toward the shore, close together to keep the ocean wind at bay, a wind that was chill even now near noon. Alvar went instead to the rear of the vehicle, where a closed horse trailer was attached in lieu of the Chevy Malibu. He opened the trailer door.<p>

"It's perfect," said Chandra, standing just inside and scanning their environs. "There's nobody else around. Even if there were, the surf's noise is a good mask, and it's the middle of the day, so a bright light won't be as noticeable." She smiled at him and extended her hand for him to help her down.

He did, then apologized. "I'm sorry for the bad accommodations. We would have liked to have you ride inside with us, but..."

"I know. You did just fine anyway." A sofa bed was bolted to the floor inside the trailer, and a camp heater at a safe distance from it for warmth and light. The only thing lacking was company.

Dave and Becky had already had enough of the shoreline. They met the older sorcerers halfway back to the camper. "Are we ready?" the Prime Merlinian asked.

Alvar responded, "We are. It's you who has to be ready. Since we backed off the dark magic, do you still have the control you need?"

Dave looked a little uncomfortable. "Um, probably. With your help, definitely. After this, though, I want to forget everything I ever learned about it. Veronica was right; the price is too high. I can't even pay for what I've already done."

"All right, then. Let's do this."

* * *

><p>There was no privacy screen necessary this time. Chandra's only active role was to capture Horvath as soon as he came through. She held the Grimhold firmly, waiting with grim anticipation for her revenge.<p>

Alvar's prompts needed more force than they had last time, a change he welcomed, as it meant that the subject's soul was healing. He and Dave were both fighting exhaustion by the time their efforts were rewarded.

At the center of a blinding white light, past the frightful roaring of the rip in time, could be seen a peaceful night on this very beach. Three small tents were arrayed in an arc facing a campfire burning low, while four equine figures in the background lifted their heads in alarm at the intrusion. The sudden wind from the wormhole doused the flames as if they were no more than match lights. Movement in the tents showed that the occupants were now awake. Those occupants emerged; or rather, were suddenly exposed as the tents were forcibly ripped from the ground. The four horses were far enough away that they could flee, but the sorcerers had no such luck. Terrified, they clung to one another as the three of them were pulled together into the maw.

They fell onto the sands of a winter day at noon. All seemed to have lost consciousness, until a nearly imperceptible trio of ghostly figures descended on their likenesses in the flesh and melted away inside them. The sorcerers stirred.

"Get the others away from Horvath," Chandra commanded. "I can't capture him until he's alone."

Unfortunately, Dave and Alvar were both too fatigued to move themselves, much less someone else. They sank to the sand, sitting side by side, spent but satisfied. "We did it," Dave marveled. "We actually did it." Alvar just nodded.

Becky ran to the fallen trio, trying to obey her elder's instructions. She managed to separate the three, but now they were recovering on their own. Horvath helped Veronica sit up, where she leaned against him and held tightly to the hand of Balthazar on her other side.

Alvar met the blue eyes of his apprentice and closest friend. "Welcome home, son," he murmured just loud enough to be heard. "Welcome home."


	28. Reconciliation

Horvath, still sitting on the cold sands of Cape May with a supporting arm around Veronica's back, took note of the people he hadn't seen in almost a year. He arched an eyebrow at his former cohort, who still stood with the dreaded Grimhold at the ready. "Chandra Kolinsky," he acknowledged. "So you've turned against me, too."

"You betrayed me," she retorted. "You left me unprotected in that cavern after you promised to keep us safe. You used us all. You deserve whatever punishment you get."

His face registered acceptance. "Maybe," he granted. "That's only to be expected, though, isn't it? Any other Morganian would have done the same."

"True enough," she had to admit, remembering her former apprentice. "That's why I'm not a Morganian anymore."

"I see."

Chandra spoke next to the woman leaning against Horvath. "Veronica, move away from him. I'm going to put the traitor back in prison where he belongs. He'll never bother us again."

To her surprise, Veronica shook her head. "No." Horvath looked grateful, and Balthazar remained unreadable, but Becky and her friends were aghast. The elites stood together, Veronica taking an arm of each of the gentlemen who flanked her. "We're a team," she explained. "Put that awful doll away, please. We all have some catching up to do."

* * *

><p>The seven gathered inside the Winnebago, Chandra in the recliner, Dave and Becky taking the driver's and passenger seats respectively, and the other four claiming the fully expanded couch. Horvath, surrounded by those who had legitimate reasons to hate him, was ill at ease. He would have fled if he could, but he was outnumbered and carefully watched. He sat back and pretended unconcern. His teammates could do most of the talking.<p>

Veronica gave an abridged version of events from her perspective, leaving out certain details that their rescuers didn't need to know. Balthazar noticed, and followed her example. In their way, they were defending Horvath. At one time, the eldest elite would have dismissed such kindness as weakness, but he knew better than to make that mistake now.

For their part, Dave and his fellows defended no one, particularly Dave himself. "And that's why we're here in a motor home," he concluded. "Chandra's in the clear, and Alvar has no records to incriminate him, but Becky and I are both wanted by the Feds. Drake set us up, but I'm the one who lost control of the situation." He spread his hands. "So what do we do now, Balthazar? How can I set things right?"

"You can't," was the simple answer. Dave's shoulders slumped. He'd been expecting a magical panacea from his master, an unrealistic expectation whose denial left him crushed. "I'm sorry," Balthazar went on. "You're the Prime Merlinian, Dave. You can't wipe away what happened without using Morganian methods. Master Alvar knew that." He shot a smile at his own master, seated to his left. "That's why he didn't tell you about them."

Horvath made his first contribution to the discussion. "You could plant a virus that would destroy every computer record of you from whatever date you chose. You'd have to either kill every witness or wipe their minds totally. Yes, you can clear yourself, but you'd have to do a lot of damage in the process. We Morganians call it self-preservation."

"So those thirty guys I burned, and Alvar and Becky helped to save..."

Horvath nodded. "For starters, yes. They'd have to die, or be as good as dead."

"No. There has to be another way."

The Morganian shrugged. "Suit yourself. Go to jail, stay on the run, or leave the country. Your decision."

In the ensuing depressed silence, Balthazar gave some encouragement. "Whatever you decide, Dave, you know I'll support you. I'll stay right here by your side for as long as you want me to."

To his right, Veronica echoed the sentiment. "So will I." She would always be grateful for what Dave had given her that night at Bowling Green, the gift of her beloved restored to her.

"And I," added Alvar.

"Don't forget me," chimed in Becky. She reached across the space between their chairs and caught Dave's hand in hers. Their fates were intertwined now.

Chandra and Horvath had their own fates to think about. Now that the goal had been met, Chandra was at a loss concerning what to do next. Horvath was similarly ambivalent.

"Well," said Alvar when the room grew quiet again. "Why don't we get some dinner and then head back down to Richmond? I'm sure we'll all be able to think more clearly after a good meal and a good night's rest."

"All right." Chandra stood with a sigh. "Anyone want to ride in the trailer with me? It was a bit lonely coming up here."

"I will," Veronica volunteered. "We have some unsettled business about what you tried to do in the storm drain."

* * *

><p>They stayed at a Richmond motel that night, in two adjoining rooms, each with two double beds. The ladies shared one room, and the men another. They would have split up further, but Horvath couldn't be trusted alone or with only one guardian. Even at that, they did take a further precaution.<p>

"Hand it over," Chandra demanded before they retired for the night. She held out her hand for Horvath's ring. Without it, his cane was powerless except as a bludgeoning tool.

Horvath drew back, affronted. "How dare you," he responded. "Without me, you'd still be a mere human, and now you have the nerve to order me about?"

She wasn't intimidated. "It's either that, or you spend the night in the Grimhold."

He looked around for support, but the others had drawn away from him. "Veronica," he pleaded, "don't you trust me?"

The woman he'd called his wife was sympathetic, but her resolve didn't waver. "I'm sorry, Horvath," she said. "It's too soon. You'll have to prove your trustworthiness, and that won't happen tonight." She and Balthazar exchanged glances and a slight nod of unspoken agreement. "If it makes you feel any better, we'll join you in the Grimhold until tomorrow."

He gave in. "That won't be necessary," he told her. Reluctantly, he pulled the power ring from his finger and handed it to Veronica. "Only you have the right to keep this for me," he said. "I did take yours from you, after all."

"Thank you, Horvath. You'll get it back in the morning." She kissed him on the cheek, then left with Becky and Chandra.

When the men were alone, they had to decide who slept where. Dave fidgeted, uncomfortable.

"What's wrong, Dave?" his master queried.

The young man's cheeks had grown red from embarrassment. "Um, there's two beds, and, um, there's...four of us." He scratched his ear so he could break eye contact.

Horvath and Balthazar both rolled their eyes. Alvar just groaned. Balthazar told his apprentice, "It's nothing inappropriate, Dave. Men have shared rooms, and beds, at inns and such for centuries. We sleep. That's it, okay?"

Dave just stared at the floor.

"Look, how about if you take the one bed, and I can sleep on the floor? Let me swipe a pillow and the top blanket, and I'm good to go. This carpet is a lot softer than your lab floor."

"Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Balthazar gave him a playful cuff as he grabbed the requested bedding. "Good night, Dave."

* * *

><p>When he saw Veronica again the next morning, Balthazar thought she looked happier than she had since that first night they'd spent together on the beach. "I'd forgotten how good a shower felt," she said brightly, and he couldn't help but agree. The trio had made many improvements in the living standards of their time in the past, however short-lived those improvements had proved to be, but indoor plumbing hadn't been one of them.<p>

"So, did you ladies sleep well?" asked Alvar. Their own night had passed without incident, all four men being too tired to even watch TV.

"Yes, thank you," Becky responded. Like Dave, she had slept alone, but without requiring a roommate to sleep on the floor. "We had a good discussion."

"Oh?" Dave asked. "What about?"

Chandra replied, "Girl stuff." That was all any of the women would say. They just smiled at each other conspiratorially, and let the men guess whatever they wanted.

The group enjoyed the complimentary continental breakfast in the motel dining area, then gathered again in the room where the men had slept. "What now?" asked Horvath. "I don't suppose I'm free to go, eh?" His ring had been returned as promised, but he was still under virtual arrest.

There was no immediate answer. After much uneasy shifting and studying their shoes, Alvar confessed, "We don't exactly know what to do now. We were hoping your return would fix everything."

Dave added his comment. "It's too bad we all couldn't have gone into the past with you. None of this mess–being on the run, I mean–would have happened."

"No," said Balthazar, "but you wouldn't remember anything, either. We didn't exactly go with diaries in hand. We didn't even know our own names."

Chandra nodded in agreement. "He's right, Dave. Losing your identity is even worse than being an outlaw. You're starting your life over from scratch."

Horvath broke in. "That's not necessarily a bad thing." He sounded wistful, almost sad.

Balthazar peered at his colleague with an empathetic smile. There was plenty in his own life that he would just as soon forget. One didn't live for nearly 1500 years without gathering scars.

Dave said nothing, but his master could practically see the gears turning inside his head. "What are you thinking, Dave?" he asked.

"What, you mean you can't read my mind?" came the gentle tease in response.

"Not this time. Maybe I'm losing my touch."

"Maybe, or it could be just because I haven't figured it out myself." He glanced at his watch. "We'd better check out soon. Let's go back to the campground so I can pick up the car. I need a little time to be alone so I can concentrate." He grinned at Balthazar. "Focus, I think you'd call it." Then, to Becky: "Well, not quite alone."

* * *

><p>The older couple wanted some time alone, too. They walked together to the edge of the campground, where trees ran along the shore of a sizable lake. Even in February, there were fishermen and boaters using the water, though not in the numbers it would see later in the year. If not for their presence, the scene could have been one out of time, from last week to last year to more than a millennium ago. It was a bittersweet reminder of the vision they had built up over the last months of their lives, only to see it destroyed.<p>

"Do you think there's any trace left?" Veronica wondered.

"Probably," her comrade replied. "If we were to dig far enough on Randall's Island, we'd probably be able to find a few stones from the fort, maybe even a metal artifact or two."

"Just like Merlin's castle," she said mournfully. "Is there to be no home for us, Balthazar? Will there never be rest?"

He took her in his arms and held her close. "Someday," he promised. "Our year is almost over. By this time next month, we'll be husband and wife, and then we can build a home together."

She looked up, brown eyes meeting blue. "Truly? You still want me, after...?" Sorrow and fear and hope mingled in her voice, in her eyes, in her body next to his. "I'm not pure anymore," she felt compelled to remind him. "You kept yourself pure for me, through all the years of loneliness, only to find I'd been taken by another. I'm not the virgin bride you were waiting for."

"I know." Yes, it hurt, and he made no effort to hide it.

"If only I'd gone with you when you asked me to..."

"You did what you thought was right. How can I fault you for that? None of us knew any different." He stroked one upturned cheek. "John loved Agatha, even though he knew she would never be his. Now that we know you're free, how can Balthazar do less?"

Tears of gratitude flowed over his fingers on her face. "I've made mistakes," she said through tightened throat. "Loving you was never one of them."

There was only one appropriate response. The shoreline of a lake served just as well as a crystal pebble beach.

* * *

><p>The three sorcerers left behind were relaxing in the Winnebago lounge when Balthazar and his bride-to-be returned.. They'd been sharing Morganian stories over drinks, much more at ease in each other's company than they'd been the day before. Horvath even seemed to be enjoying himself for the first time since he'd got his memory back.<p>

They turned at the sound of the vehicle door opening. Horvath's smile abruptly faded as Veronica entered, followed closely by Merlin's third apprentice. There was a change in the pair; something had been resolved that left the two even more obviously devoted to one another than they'd already been. Horvath turned his face away.

Balthazar noticed, but pretended not to. Although the trio had become a team again while away on their adventure, a status that none of them had suggested should now be dissolved, there were still certain issues that had to be settled. After what his colleague had done to the woman he loved, Horvath deserved to suffer a little, too. Balthazar wasn't quite as ready to forgive him as was Veronica.

"So what have you three been up to?" he asked as casually as he could manage. "Plotting to take over the world again?" He smiled to disarm the accusation.

Alvar spoke for the others. "No, we're done with that. We were talking about Morganian policy, especially when it comes to new recruits." He shook his head. "What's this world coming to, when they take women and idiots like Drake Stone? No wonder their side lost."

"Hey!" Chandra protested. "I resent that!" She poked him with her cane, but he only laughed at her.

He raised his glass in mock apology. "A toast to sorcerer women," he offered, bowing his head to both Chandra and Veronica. "What would we men do without you?"

Not long after, the Malibu pulled into its designated parking space beside the unoccupied horse trailer. Dave and Becky emerged and opened the car trunk. They came inside the camper laden with bags of groceries and other things.

"Hi guys," greeted the youngest sorcerer. "I figured, since we were out anyway, we might as well do some shopping. I got us some steaks." He grinned in anticipation.

"Oh, good," Alvar replied. "We can have a cookout."

Dave couldn't believe it. "A cookout, in the middle of winter? It's, like, forty degrees outside! Are you nuts?"

"We're all nuts." Alvar smiled and stood. "I'll go fire up the grill."

* * *

><p>After dinner, the mood grew more serious. Though no one had mentioned it aloud, they were all starting to think about sleeping arrangements and other accommodations. The Tour was spacious, yes, but it wasn't meant to sleep seven, nor was the water tank capacity enough for that many.<p>

When they couldn't put it off any longer, Alvar brought up the subject that was on everyone's mind. "We can't keep doing this," he stated. "We'll have to find a real place to stay until we figure out our next step." This last was meant for Dave; who, by unspoken consensus, was the linchpin that determined their future.

The linchpin recognized as much. He took Becky's hand and stood close beside her He gazed at each of his companions in turn, setting their images firmly in his mind. "Becky and I have been talking," he said to no one's surprise. "We've made a decision. We..._I_ think it's best if we leave. You've all been in exile, in one way or another, for whatever period of time. Now it's my turn."

"I don't understand," Balthazar claimed, although he feared that he did. "You're in exile right now, along with the rest of us. How will leaving help anything?"

"I don't mean leave this place. I mean leave _here_, this whole world. Becky and I are going through the wormhole."


	29. Dave's decision

Alvar was the first to speak. "Not without my help, you're not," he said. "Setting aside your reasons, however questionable they might be, you might just find that it's a physical impossibility to create another on demand. We had a hard enough time with this last one, if you'll recall."

"Well, yes..." Dave hadn't forgotten. "I'll have to build up my control again, but I figured it should be easier now that I know what to expect. Once we're through, I won't remember it anyway, so the effects will wear off a lot faster." He smiled at the blonde beside him. "And I'll have Becky to help me recover."

Chandra had her own viewpoint to consider. "You're assuming I'm going to cooperate with this plan of yours, Dave. The wormhole opens nearest me, always. Do you plan to lock me in place again, hold me against my will? I thought we were past that stage."

The Prime Merlinian looked around again, his confidence shaken. None of the others seemed to like his decision, with the possible exception of Horvath. He'd expected that, but he hadn't expected resistance to it. He sighed. "Looks like I'd better explain myself." He sat down in the Winnebago driver's seat.

"Let me guess," Balthazar said before Dave got any further. "You figure, by taking yourself and Becky out of the picture, the rest of us will be free to continue our lives here without having to run or hide anymore. In other words, you plan to sacrifice your own lives for ours. Does that sound about right?"

Now Dave was embarrassed. "Um, yeah, kind of." His master apparently hadn't lost his mind-reading touch after all. Hastily, he added, "But it's for us, too, Becky and me. We'd be free to start over without being in trouble with the law."

Balthazar leaned forward on the couch and shook his head. "Twenty years isn't enough. You're both still young. You don't want to run into this again when you hit forty. You won't be able to run away from it then, not on your own."

"Well, what do you suggest, then? I can't ask any of you to come with us. This is my problem, not yours. You shouldn't have to pay for my mistakes."

"Who says you have to ask?"

Dave sat stunned. "No way," he murmured. The faces around him showed agreement with Balthazar, a resolve that he found hard to take in. Horvath gave away nothing, but the others left no doubt.

"I told you I'd support whatever decision you made," his master reminded him. "We're in this together. We're with you wherever, whenever you go." He sat back then and smiled. "Just one thing, though..."

"What's that?" Dave was afraid to ask.

"Let's wait for a few more weeks before going through with this. You can use the time to practice what you need to practice. We can stay at a motel until we're ready to leave."

"Okay..."

"March 3rd is coming up soon. We've got a wedding to plan."

* * *

><p>They were alone for the first time since their return to the present. Whether by accident or design, Horvath was left at the campground this afternoon with only Veronica to guard him. The weather had improved markedly over the past week, hovering in the 70's with a pleasant breeze. The pair walked outside, enjoying the day. Horvath, as usual lately, said little, but his unhappiness was as evident as if he'd shouted it aloud.<p>

"I'm sorry," Veronica told him sincerely. "I know this isn't easy for you."

His response was harsher than he'd intended, but it clearly showed his frustration. "Sorry for what?" he demanded. "Forcing me to come with you on your misguided adventure, or making me watch while you marry another man?"

She answered slowly. "I wish you wanted to stay with us." The Merlinians couldn't afford to let Horvath go, they all knew. It was bad enough that Drake Stone would be virtually unchecked.

"I want to stay with you," Horvath told her. "You're all I ever wanted, really. It just hurts to see you with him."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted. You and I had our chance before we ever met Balthazar–both times–and then again while he was away at sea. It just wasn't meant to be, Horvath."

"I could have made it work. I lost control; that was my mistake. I ruined my best shot when..." He didn't have to finish.

She couldn't deny his last assertion, though she doubted his ultimate conclusion. The violence was simply an outlet for his rage, stemming from the differences between them that kept her from returning his desire. Even if Balthazar had never entered their lives, she couldn't love Horvath in his stead, not as a woman loves her husband.

"Do you still want my forgiveness?" she asked. "I told you, you already have it. Now you need to forgive yourself."

"I want your love. I had your obedience, but it wasn't the same."

"I do love you, Horvath...as a friend, and as a brother. You shouldn't dismiss that so easily."

"It's not enough," he snapped back reflexively. She just looked saddened, and he immediately regretted his response. "I...I'll think about it," he continued, trying to make amends. He didn't want to lose whatever good will he had left with her.

He tried changing the subject. Noting their neighbors returning to their own campsites for dinner, he nodded at the Winnebago sitting all alone. The Malibu had been converted into a van capable of towing the horse trailer, a much more practical arrangement for daily use. "I suppose the others will be back soon," he said. "It's too bad neither of us knows how to drive this thing. We could have gone to see a movie or something."

Veronica smiled, recognizing the attempted distraction for what it was. Horvath hadn't even tried to escape, though they both knew he probably could have. It was a good sign.

* * *

><p>Alvar, Dave, and Becky insisted on staying at the campground in the motor home until the time came for their final departure. "I paid a lot of money for this beauty," Alvar told the other four. "I want to enjoy it for as long as possible before I have to give it up."<p>

"You don't have to..." Dave began guiltily, but Alvar cut him off with a glare.

"How long have we known each other?" the older man asked rhetorically. "Longer than you've known your master. Long enough to know better. We're a team, so don't go trying to dissuade me, understand?"

Dave bowed his head, smiling. "Yes, Master Alvar." His emotional control was strengthening again, as was his self-confidence. He wasn't afraid anymore to let people see his state of mind. Alvar continued to train him in order to give Balthazar time to make arrangements for the wedding and other things he had yet to disclose. Dave grinned to himself. Balthazar and his secrets, he thought. He was immensely grateful to his fellow sorcerers for their show of solidarity. Let his master keep his quirks; the man was still the most trustworthy person that Dave had ever known.

Alvar wasn't far behind, though. By mutual consent, they had chosen to continue the use of drugs to achieve the required intensity of emotion. This, it was hoped, would allow Dave to practice only the non-lethal spells, to do what he deemed necessary without turning to the more powerful depths of dark magic. It was a dangerous flirtation, one that Dave had to trust the physician to navigate. It was safer for everyone that they stay semi-isolated at the campground.

* * *

><p>The time came for another meeting to discuss something that hadn't yet been decided. As usual, the seven gathered in the Winnebago Tour lounge<p>

Dave asked the question: "So when are we thinking of landing? We've already ruled out Merlin's time because of the paradox risk. If twenty years is too recent, and the sixth century is too far back, what does that leave us?" Automatically, everyone focused on Chandra.

"Wait a minute," the woman objected. "I never said I wanted to be a part of this. I don't mind helping you all, and I'll certainly miss you when you go, but I'm not willing to lose my identity all over again. Do you have any idea what it's like, being alone in a strange time and place without any memory at all?"

Now Dave the scientist surfaced. "The memory thing..." he said. "I've been wondering about that. I'm wondering if maybe it's me again, holding the memories here with me while you send the people through to the past in the physical realm. It's because the world is out of balance. Chandra, you and I balance each other out, but when someone goes into the wormhole, the balance is thrown off-kilter. I have to keep the memory–the negative energy of the person, so to speak–here in order to balance his physical presence–his positive energy–in the past. It's like static electricity. The imbalance just keeps building up until it finds a conductor. In this case, the conductor is the wormhole allowing the lost person to cross back and become whole again Do you see what I'm saying?"

"Not really," she admitted. "It sounds like fuzzy thinking to me."

"Yeah, I'm not explaining it very well. Just to boil it down, then: my theory is that I somehow keep the person's memory in the same time as I happen to be in. Those ghosts we saw at our end, I'm thinking those are the personifications of memories. They stayed here, in my time, until their hosts came back. So, if I'm there with you in the past, you'll remember everything. We'll all remember everything." The corollary to that theory–that Dave's creative partner would lose her memory in the past with him if she didn't accompany the group–had no need to be uttered.

"Mm-hmm. And what if you're wrong?" Chandra was clearly skeptical.

He grinned at her. "I have a back-up plan," he informed her. "This time, we won't be caught unprepared. This time, we _will_ have our diaries in hand."

She nodded. It made sense. "But aren't you worried about paradox with me going back to the same time twice?"

"Yeah, that is a concern," Dave allowed, "but you're still the best option we have. We'll just have to make sure we stay away from New York, I guess."

Becky threw out the next logical question. "All right, we have a target date in mind. How do we make sure that's where we end up? If we all go through together, how will the wormhole know whose birthday to focus on?"

"I believe I can answer that," Horvath interjected. "Merlin told me his dragon ring came to him the year before his castle was finished, and it took ten years after that before he found his first apprentice to train there. I was eleven. I was also the first one of us three–he glanced at his fellow apprentices–to go into the wormhole. The first person through must set the end date."

Balthazar offered an alternate possibility. "Or it could be the eldest one in the group." Then he reconsidered. "Except that you'd already landed by the time I passed the threshold. The eldest status wouldn't have been determined until the portal closed. Yeah, I think you're right, Horvath."

"Which means I'd have to go first," Chandra declared unhappily. "Dave, I hope your theory is correct."

* * *

><p>One loose end remained before the final day, the day of celebration and then a new beginning.<p>

"I'll make you a deal," said Horvath. "I'll get rid of Drake Stone for you–yes, I'll leave him alive, if I must–and come willingly with you all, but I want to choose a different era for our destination."

"Why?" his roommate wanted to know. "I thought we already decided that 1946 was the best date we had available." Balthazar and Horvath shared a motel room, while next door dwelt Veronica and Chandra. The arrangements were a bit awkward for the men, having been best friends, teammates, then enemies and romantic rivals for most of their long, eventful lives. Trust once broken took much time and effort to restore.

Horvath was improving since their unintended foray into the distant past. As Dave had observed, the loss of memory did help in certain areas, allowing time for a corrupted soul to begin the healing process. The apprentice trio's friendship had been reestablished, as well, without the barrier of jealous hatred that had grown between them when Veronica made her choice. It was a powerful reminder of the closeness that Horvath had once thrown away.

Another power was also at work. It was unnamed and unrecognized, subtle as maturity and growth. It had started in Victor's Village while John was away at sea, growing stronger after his return and their choice to visit Merlin. It was the same power that had saved Alvar from his life of bitter loneliness. Undeserved forgiveness was the key.

Horvath was improving, but he still had a long way to go. He still craved control, for the addiction of power was long established in his life. "_You_ decided on 1946," he corrected. "I didn't. I was enjoying myself two decades before that. You want to avoid paradox, and I want to pick up where I left off, before I was so rudely interrupted by our little skirmish in 1929."

Balthazar rolled his eyes. "You tried to ambush me, remember? You're the one who started that 'skirmish,' not me."

"Whatever. You got lucky."

"Okay, I got lucky." That much was true, at least. "But that doesn't change the problem. We don't have anyone with us who was born in the1920's. We can't go back to that time."

Horvath smiled. "Not yet. I need to take a little trip to New York City."

* * *

><p>"Good, good. We're all set then, right?" Drake Stone leaned back in his wheelchair, his flamboyant red silk cape falling in smooth ripples across his lap. He wore a matching jaunty cap complete with egret plumes. It was a bold outfit that virtually dared the police to find and arrest the city's most powerful new syndicate boss. It was also the boss's protection against any human weapon, though he saw no need to tell the humans as much.<p>

His henchman gave a slight nod. "The shipment comes in tomorrow morning. We'll have extra guys on hand to make sure they don't try to pull something funny." He backed away toward the door. "Good night, Mr. Stone."

Drake waved a hand, and the door opened behind his employee. The man hastily departed.

When he was alone, the former illusionist bolted the door securely shut. His headquarters were a virtual fortress, solid stone underground with its own independent power supply and enough food in storage to keep him satisfied for months in case of a siege or betrayal. He felt safe here.

That illusion was shattered a few minutes later, when his mistress and live-in nurse was helping him get ready for bed. They looked up at the sound of the bedroom door opening; in an instant, Drake had pulled the woman onto his lap as a human shield, one arm firmly around her neck, the other with a blue ball of energy poised to strike.

Horvath stepped inside the room as if he owned it. He took in the situation with a sneer. "Really?" he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Do you really think your harlot is going to protect you?" He lifted his cane, and the woman slumped in her captor's grip, unconscious.

Drake hurled his plasma bolt. It was a move made in desperation, but it proved ultimately useless. The bolt veered sharply away from its intended target, slamming into the stone wall next to the open doorway instead. He flung his burden off his lap as a projectile, but she landed in a heap well short of the intruder. Drake threw up a shield against the expected retaliation. His face had gone white; there was no escape.

Horvath gave him a slow, sinister smile. "You forgot the first rule of a sorcerer ring," he pointed out. "You can't use a ring against the one who crafted it, any more than he can use it against you." Usually, the crafter was the master who was taking on a new apprentice, a safeguard meant to inspire mutual trust, but that wasn't always the case.

"How...how did you get back?" Drake choked out.

Through the doorway stepped the answer. If possible, Drake Stone paled even further. "M...Master! I thought..."

She was not pleased with her former pupil. "You thought I was dead, thanks to your treachery. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Stay away from me," he warned, though the fear was evident in his voice. "I may be crippled, but I'm still a sorcerer. You won't take me without a fight."

"We didn't expect to," Horvath answered.

The battle was brief but intense. In the end, Drake lay stretched out on the floor, his cape torn away and his silk hat burned into a pile of ashes. The wheelchair was overturned against the outer door no longer bolted shut.

Chandra reached down and pulled the ring from the fallen combatant's hand. He moaned in protest, but lacked the strength to stop her. "Your sorcerer days are over," she informed him. "As your master, I have the right to do anything I want to punish you for misbehavior."

He strained to lift his head, to meet the eyes of one from whom he expected nothing short of death. She did have the right.

She chose a different fate for him instead. "Drake Stone, I leave you as a human, as powerless as they." She closed her fist around the confiscated ring. When she opened it again, her palm held nothing but a molten lump, one that melted and dripped through her fingers to the floor, where it spattered and bubbled and hissed. It vanished slowly in a tiny cloud of steam. The ring was gone forever.

"We're leaving now," she told him. "You won't find another sorcerer, so you might as well get used to being 'normal.' That's what I had to do for twelve long years. Good-bye, Drake. Have a nice life."


	30. New beginnings

"What happened?" Balthazar wanted to know when the others came back to the van. Horvath looked quite pleased with himself, but Chandra remained businesslike.

"I banished him from the sorcerer world," she said. "He's as much an exile now as we are." She headed back to the trailer without further explanation.

Horvath climbed into the van's front passenger seat. "One more stop," he told the vehicle's driver. "It's time for me to pull rank."

* * *

><p>The old man came home to a tiny, rent-controlled apartment on the third floor of a building past its prime. His apron smelled like cooking grease; it would have to be laundered before work tomorrow, but he wanted to empty his hamper to make enough for even a small load. It meant an extra trip up and down the steps to the basement, but that couldn't be helped. That was life, his life.<p>

He unlocked his apartment door and entered, weary. Right now, all he wanted was to sit on the couch in front of the little TV, maybe with a bottle of rum to help him unwind. The thought made him smile.

"This is pathetic," someone said before he even had a chance to turn on the light. He jumped.

"Who's there?" he demanded, his heart and mind racing. He was unarmed, but even if he weren't, he had little chance of overpowering an intruder. His hand froze by the light switch.

The room lit up anyway, and he relaxed just a little. Maxim Horvath stood behind the couch, as dapper as when he'd first come to see the man at his workplace. "You gave me a scare," complained Candelario. "My old heart can't take that anymore."

"Sorry," said Horvath absently. He looked around with contempt. "All that money we paid you, and this is the best you can do? What did you do, spend it all on liquor?"

"I'm saving it," his host answered defensively. "Someday soon, I'm going to retire again, and then I plan to move back to Puerto Rico. I figure this Fall, or maybe next year at the latest. This job is getting older than I am."

"Well, I have a new assignment for you. It requires travel, but only a little, and it starts now."

"Can I at least sit down for a while? I'm beat."

"You can sit in the van. Gather everything you want to take with you, because we're not coming back. Nothing you have to plug in, though; that would be useless. Don't worry about your money, either."

"Where we goin'?" He pulled off his dirty apron and tossed it into the trash. "What's this new assignment you're talkin' 'bout, and how come it needs me? I'm just a desk man, doin' the paperwork."

"You're going to be the leader of an expedition," his visitor told him. "You finally get to see some action. Hurry up, now. We have people waiting for us."

Candelario frowned. "But I don't want to see action. I'm happy being retired, or semi-retired when I get bored. Forget it. I ain't going."

Horvath loomed closer. "You _are_ going," he insisted. "As the top-ranking Morganian in the world, I'm your boss. You take orders from me."

"Fine. Then I quit."

"You can't quit. This is a lifetime job. That's the way it's always been, as you well know. Must I compel you to do your duty?" He held up his cane; the threat was clear.

The old man's eyes widened. "No..." He backed away, shaken. "Just promise me one thing, okay? Promise me it'll be safe. I want to die of old age, not in some fight or whatever."

Horvath closed his eyes while he fought for patience. "You're only in danger if you keep me waiting much longer. Now get packing."

* * *

><p>It was a simple ceremony, held in a chapel at Veronica's request. Besides the minister and his aide, only six attended as witnesses and with varying degrees of approval. Horvath had grudgingly come to accept the inevitable, though he still wasn't happy about it.<p>

The bride wore an ivory-colored gown with tiny pearl accents and long, lacy cuffs. A braided headband adorned with small white flowers, reminiscent of the makeshift crown she'd worn as Agatha, held the veil in place. The outfit came courtesy of Chandra Kolinsky and the sewing skills she'd honed over the course of the past decade.

The rings were those that Veronica had crafted herself, crystal and gold to demonstrate the union of two become one, slipped on to fingers made bare in preparation for the customized symbol of love. Now at last, the union of Balthazar and Veronica was clear to all. The couple had become man and wife.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, the honeymoon would have to wait. Outside, the horse trailer was packed full of the travelers' belongings, leaving barely enough room for Chandra to squeeze onto one end of the couch. Before the others could climb into the van, Balthazar brought forth an item from behind the third row of seats. Grinning hugely, he floated it beside him until he stood with it in front of the open trailer door.<p>

"You all wondered what I've been up to, I understand," he said. "Well, here it is." With a flourish, he waved at the mysterious item. It was a rolled-up rug; which, when it opened at its master's bidding, revealed a distinctive design. It was the rug from the penthouse condominium, the custom-made Merlin Circle now in full view of everyone.

Awed silence ensued, followed by various expressions of wonder. Horvath mused quietly, "It's been a long time since I've worked inside that circle. Will it burn if I try to activate it?"

"Only the lines will burn," answered his peer. "The rug won't, same as the stone floor didn't at the castle. The rug will wear out in time, but by then, we should have a permanent design etched somewhere else." He rolled it up again and put it back inside the van. Taking his wife's hand, he pulled her close to him. "Call it my first wedding gift to you, sweetheart. I'll have another, more personal one, for you tonight when we're alone."

She blushed, but her lips curled upward. "Balthazar, please! You shouldn't talk like that in public."

Alvar interrupted their banter. "All right, folks, we need to get going. You'll have plenty of time later to celebrate, but right now we're starting to draw a crowd. Let's get out of here before someone recognizes us."

* * *

><p>They drove to a familiar place. Night had fallen by the time they reached Cape May, a night which would have looked the same yesterday or a thousand years ago. It was pitch black except for the crescent moon and a few stars bright enough to be seen through the cover of clouds. The warmth of the day, what little there had been, was gone. The beach was deserted but for the voyagers just arrived.<p>

Alvar opened the trailer door, a fireball hovering at his side for light. "Come up with us," he invited the sole occupant inside. "We should all be together for this. Besides, we want to be sure the wormhole opens ahead of us, not behind."

Chandra didn't understand. "But the van won't run if I'm inside it."

"It doesn't have to. It's in neutral, so it will drift wherever the forces take it. Between the wormhole's pull and our combined thrust to give it speed, we'll go through without any engine power at all." He extended his hand. "Come on, I'll help you down."

In the van's driver seat, Candelario slumped over the wheel, softly snoring. "We didn't want to frighten him, so we thought it was better to have him sleep through the whole experience," Alvar explained. "He'll still be the first one through."

The passenger seat and the second row were gone, folded up like Dave's Encantus and set aside to make room for the group to gather. Dave sat in the middle of the back row, already woozy from the first dose of physician-administered drugs. Balthazar supported him on one side, and Alvar sat down on the other. Chandra joined the other women and Horvath on the floor around the Prime Merlinian's feet.

"Are you ready?" Alvar asked of their most powerful member. Dave nodded once. The master looked past him to his apprentice on Dave's other side. "Lend us your strength, please, Balthazar. Follow my prompting. This is going to have to be the biggest, strongest wormhole we've ever created. For that, we'll need your help."

"Yes, Master." Balthazar was all business now. He allowed Alvar to guide his hands to the proper places above his own apprentice's temples; then the older man pressed upon Dave's forehead and the base of his skull. It was a virtual helmet of sorcerer power, and Dave felt his trepidation melt away. He was, quite literally, in good hands.

They began. When the light appeared in front of the windshield, Becky turned around to stare at it. The light grew and kept growing until it filled the inside of the van as well as the world outside. It was blinding in its brightness. Becky squeezed her eyes shut, but still she saw glowing red.

A sudden roar made her jump, even though she'd been expecting it. The van jolted, beginning a slow lurch forward. She peeked out through interlaced fingers to see a great black maw in the midst of the brightness, a maw shot through with streaming stars. Around her on the floor, the sorcerers were moving their arms as if pulling on a rope, pulling the van as quickly as they could along an invisible track. The vehicle picked up speed.

It was terrifying, but also exhilarating. In an instant, the blackness was upon them. They fell, weightless and bodiless, but together in a bond not easily broken. As one, they shouted for joy.

The light vanished from the beach of Cape May. The tracks of two vehicles, dug deeply into the sand, became less and less distinct as they went forward, until they were gone completely. Of the vehicles themselves, there was no other trace. No ripple marked where the light had been...

And no specters were left behind.


End file.
